


it’s the little things

by Catzzy



Category: Spider-Man - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Anxiety, Depression, Hurt Peter Parker, Hurt/Comfort, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, I'm Sorry, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Violence, post IW, post snap
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-09
Updated: 2019-01-12
Packaged: 2019-07-28 09:55:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 21,657
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16239239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Catzzy/pseuds/Catzzy
Summary: He closes his eyes and it’s all he can focus on:Shimmering sand.Trapped wails.Colourful dust;all-too-inviting doors he knows he shouldn’t open if he wants to stay sane and in this world.Tony has told him so, but there are only so many problems the man can help with, and it’s getting difficult juggling so many at one time.It’s really getting tough juggling fake with reality.ORPeter’s back from the Snap, but Ross won’t leave him alone, and there’s something going around - trying to lure him into another reality with the promise of a fake utopia.





	1. Chapter 1

The first thing he saw was the blue sky - white clouds floating above just like any other normal day.

The normality of the calm, still atmosphere was like he’d been thrown in a blender for the past month that had only just stopped moving - that had only now given him the opportunity to look at his surroundings.

It was so normal, but so wrong.

He tried to move, the agonising pain in the back of his head telling him otherwise. He barely lifted his head when he collapsed back.

Everything was clear, dialled to eleven. The smell and feel of fresh, wet summer grass, under him, sound of birds chirping above him, and the people. People who he could hear muttering, flashing pictures and calling for help.

“Man, you okay?” Someone asked, towering over him and blocking the bright sky. 

Peter frowned, and only then he realised. Realised why his face felt constricted and his clothes so tight. 

“Spider-Man?” The person asked again, and Peter felt a sudden rush of panic jolt his entire body.

He felt as if his world was about to collapse around him because—because he couldn’t move. He couldn’t move and he couldn’t speak, and he didn’t know where he was, but there were people here. Too many people.

People. 

People and the paralysing fear that he wouldn’t be able to do anything if they tried taking his mask or hurting him.

“I—“ his attempt to ask for help was cut off by the loud marching to his left, which seemed to shake the ground from underneath him.

“Everyone, please get back,” a man ordered, and then someone was rolling him to the side, pushing his face into the ground.

He inhaled sharply, the sickly sweet smell of grass and feeling of deja vu mixing with fear and helplessness. His heart was racing as his wrists were pulled back roughly, cuffed tightly.

“Don’t move.”

_(“Don’t move.” The words were crisp and clear, whispered right into his ear._

__

__

_He inhaled. Thought about how unbelievably hot it was here; focused on the heat instead of the horror show in front of him._

_The woman stood in front of him, back to him so that he could only see the colour of her hair, “You move, you die. You wouldn’t want that, would you?)_

His vision had already started blurring by then, darkening the more he blinked and tried to stay awake.

“Don’t try...” the rest of the menacing sentence faded into mumbles, and then nothing when the world turned black and he lost consciousness.

* * *

“And the wedding?” Tony asked quickly, firing back at her as soon as she’d finished her sentence.

Pepper raised her brows - blinked as if she’d been asked the stupidest question in the world, “the wedding? What about the wedding, Tony?”

“What about it? You cancelled—

“I _postponed_ it, because you—“

“I didn’t say we should move the date,” he interrupted, lifting up both hands in the air defensively.

“Yeah.” Pepper said obviously, “you didn’t say anything.” There wasn’t rudeness or anger in her voice. Just regret and sadness, which she knew would only upset him more, but she couldn’t mask that.

Tony sighed, holding her by the shoulders, “We should do it. You wanna do it now? Let’s do it right now, take a plane to—“

Pepper smiled tiredly, “we’re not in our good place. I want it to start with happiness not—“ she shook her head, “—not this. Not until they’re all back.”

 _Not until your nightmares are gone._ He heard the unsaid words, saw how defeated she felt. Knew it was all his fault, because he was dragging her into this unending mess. And she didn’t deserve this - giving up everything just because he had a broken shell of a life right now.

He gave a forced smile, then nodded, letting her go, “you’re right. You’re always right,”

She reciprocated, “maybe. But I don’t have the fate of the universe resting on my shoulders. My being wrong doesn’t matter.”

Tony looked away, eyes shifting uneasily, “and mine has.”

“We’ve never had to find out.” She said quickly, because she’d never say that, or mean anything like that, and she didn’t know why he wouldn’t understand that. She was on his side. 

He huffed a laugh, “really?”

“Really.” She said confidently and genuinely. “No one would’ve done what you did.”

There were a few seconds of silence, and Tony wondered how she always knew exactly what to say at exactly the right time, an art he had yet to master.

She looked back at him with a smile, and everything in this moment was so perfect—

_“Boss, there’s something in—“_

He closed his eyes and clenched his jaw, “Fri, I’m kinda in the—“

The ringing of the phone disrupted their conversation, and he looked down at the phone in his hand.

“Rhodey.” He stated, confused.

Pepper gave a curious look as he picked up.

_”Turn on the news.”_

“Rhodes, today’s my personal day, I can deal with whatever he’s done—“

_”Tony, now.”_

He pulled the phone away from his ear and looked to Pepper with a shrug.

“Fri, news please.”

_”Yes, boss, I believe this is what Mr Rhodes is referring to.”_

A screen illuminated in the middle of the room and Tony’s face dropped.

_“—out of it and wasn’t even moving or anything and they just like, came outta nowhere, y’know?”_

_”And he was unconscious?”_ The reporter asked, her eyes squinting at the sunlight. 

_“Man, I’m pretty sure, they were, like, being real extra to the poor guy,”_ the young man answering the questions told her, a distant look of worry on his face. 

_“Well, there you have it. The arrest comes after accusations by Secretary Ross blamed super humans and the Avengers for the disappearance of over three and a half billion p—“_

“Where is he?” Tony asked, waving a hand in the air and muting the news, phone pressed against his ear.

_”I believe taken for interrogation.” Friday answered._

A few seconds of silence struck the room. Tony clenched his fists; Pepper uncharacteristically ran a hand over her face.

_“I haven’t heard anything.” Rhodey answered, finally - the question was initially for him, after all, “but Friday sounds about right, sorry.”_

“Tony, they can do that?” Pepper asked, eyes filled with worry.

Tony slammed his fist on the table, “what do you think, Pep? He doesn’t care who it is,” his words were harsher than he intended.

Pepper scoffed, “I’m gonna let that slide.”

He exhaled deeply, “sorry. I’m sorry,” he didn’t have enough time to deal with this. They’d probably have him there by the time he even figured out a plan, and he wasn’t waiting all those months for it to end up like this.

She ignored his apology, “I meant his age. Peter’s a minor, there has be some kind of law around it.”

“It doesn’t apply to—superhumans.” He stammered, running a hand over his face, “I should’ve kept tabs. I should’ve known where he’d end up—“

“Tony, that was an impossible question,” she interrupted, “what are you gonna do?”

_“I can find out where they’re keeping him,” Rhodes offered._


	2. Chapter 2

He gasped awake to pain radiating around his head and a cold, gray cell. His hands were cuffed behind his back, and he leaned forwards, being pulled right back by two tall, terrifying men.

His hands itched to rub his eyes but they remained in position, doing nothing to help the black and white spots that seemed to cover the majority of his view.

“Where—“ the rest of the sentence, wherever it had come from, disappeared when the ringing in his ears returned.

He squinted, eyes watering from the overwhelmingness of the situation. A small gasp escaped his mouth when his head was harshly slammed backwards.

“Answer me!” The man in front of him demanded, one hand wrapped around his neck.

The only word that came out of Peter was a small, quiet, “what”.

“Go.” He ordered, following the word with something else that was blocked out by Peter’s nonfunctional ears.

They grabbed him by the arms, then quickly dragged him off the chair. He couldn’t even struggle, his legs refused to cooperate or stand, and that left him feeling more useless than ever.

His cheeks were burning, hot breaths turning into wheezes as they dropped him on his knees.

He realised what was about to happen too late, or he would’ve held his breath. But he didn’t get the chance, and within seconds, his head was pushed into the tub in front of him.

He took a breath too quickly, water burning his throat as he tried with all he had to lift himself up and out.

Drowning would have to be the worst way do die, he thought.

His eyes opened to black, and this was it. He’d die here and now surrounded by enemies before he even had a chance to see—

He took a struggled breath as soon as they pulled him out, and then without warning, he was under again before he could take a second breath.

The water was freezing, and his head was starting to feel more like a frozen block of ice that wouldn’t melt.

When they took him out again, he involuntarily fell forwards, and they quickly took hold of him again.

“—kill him!” 

He made out before he passed out.

* * *

“—set up a meeting, get papers and—and—damnit!“ he took a few shaky breaths and leaned forwards on the table.

Pepper patted his back, “Tony, hey, it’s okay. It’s okay.”

“It’s not. Nothing’s okay here,” he snapped, eyes closed and taking a deep breath. 

“Tony, he’s strong—l

“No, he isn’t. He’s not strong, he’s a child, who died in a war he never even saw coming.”

“They all did.”

“Not in my arms,” he answered quickly, voice wavering. 

“And now you’ll—we’ll get him back.”

“I think I have a plan. Favour to call in.”

“Who—“ she stopped and huffed a laugh, “that’s—oh that’s luck.”

“Is it? More saves, more favours.”

Pepper scoffed, “Uh huh, because that’s why you do what you do, to rack up favours.”

“It totally is.”

“Oh, totally.”

* * *

A high-pitched scream startled him awake the second time, nearly pushing him off the excuse of a bed he was lying on.

_(His hands shook, and his skin felt like it was on fire._

__

__

_“You burn everything you touch,” May said, but there wasn’t spite in her tone, just confusion and panic._

_He moved forwards, but she stepped back, well away from him and sure not to even accidentally touch him._

_“Don’t touch them.”)_

His breathing quickened and mind panicked, the layer of sweat making the suit stick onto his skin like glue; like wet tissue.

The bed creaked when he tried to sit up, but at least he was unrestrained now. He blinked quickly as he stood up, stumbling backwards onto the bed again.

His head was spinning, and for a split-second, he could’ve sworn he was seeing silver sand instead of metal rods — silver sand and trapped wails.

“You don’t look so good.” 

He looked up tearily and it took him another few blinks to see who was standing in front of him. 

“Secretary Ross. Can’t say it’s been a pleasure to meet you, Spider-Man,” His voice was filled with resentment and spite.

“Why am I here?” Peter croaked, controlling his urge to throw up here and now.

Ross pursed his lips, “it’s pretty obvious. Where did those three and a half billion people go, Peter?”

“I don’t—look, I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he all but whispered, unsure of whether the man heard or not.

“What did the Avengers do?”

Peter’s eyes fluttered, “nothing. We were trying to save it from this g—this—“ he stopped and sighed in panic, “—Thanos was his name and—“

What did the Avengers do? What did they do? What did he do? He was in over his head—he wasn’t looking out for the little guy anymore, because they caught him, and they knew he did something terrible.

“I’ve heard it before. 

“Y’know,” Ross looked curiously at him, “Aunt May could easily be one of those people.”

Peter frowned, his heart crumpling at the thought of her coming anywhere near any of this mess; at the thought of her getting hurt, “what’s—what’s that mean?” 

“Right. You wouldn’t know, but May didn’t go. Lucky one, unfortunate it won’t stay that way.”

“What’re—“

“I’ll take her in for conspiracy.”

“You can’t do that,” Peter yelled, leaning forwards in vexation.

“The hell I can’t!” He smacked his hand against the bars, making Peter flinch. “You think I can’t do that?” He pressed something to the side and the cell opened.

If he had the energy and state of mind, he wouldn’t have wasted time in making a run for it. 

But he couldn’t stand without the ground swirling, tripping him over. 

He tried moving back, being pulled forwards harshly by Ross, who was snatching at the red fabric of the suit with one hand while he grunted.

“I don’t know what the hell you were all doing, but it cost lives!” He shouted like a madman, fury igniting in his eyes, “playing circus when you feel like, whenever you feel like!”

Peter stared back with fearful, wide ones, heart thudding like no tomorrow and senses firing, telling him to run. Just run and get out of this place.

Ross sighed and shook his head, stepping back as if he’d touched filth. He patted his hands on his jacket and fixed his tie, “What are you, fourteen?”

“Sixteen,” Peter corrected, even though the man probably already knew. There was fear rising in his voice which he couldn’t even try to conceal. They were all bigger than him, stronger than him, ready to drown him in misery.

There was a slight nod of acknowledgment, “get the answers,” he demanded loudly to someone outside, “tough world you chose to be a part of, kid.”

He stiffened as soon as he saw the men come into view, walking into his cell after Ross left.

Peter tried moving back, “listen, it wasn’t—it wasn’t us! It wasn’t me!”

Two strong hands clawed at him, pulling him up and pushing him against the cold, unwelcoming walls.

His hands were cuffed again, and he heard the beep with a click before his short, scared breaths and racing heart were the only things echoing in his ears.

Standing up wasn’t doing much good for him, and he found himself fading, falling constantly as the men behind him grunted and roughly held him up by the shoulders.

He didn’t even remember the journey to his new room until he found himself sitting on a chair somewhere else, not any more comforting than the last two places.

The blackouts weren’t helping the least, confusing him out of his depth every time he opened his eyes to a newer, worse problem than the last, and it was unnerving. 

The person standing in front of him looked important - highly ranked. 

“Any information you can give me, son?” He coaxed, standing in a cold manner, shoulders back and head up straight, even though Peter himself was all the way down on the chair.

He sounded dangerous, and Peter leaned as far back against his chair as he could, in a feeble attempt to get away.

“I was on a school—“

“Trip, jumped out, went to space, fought Thanos who had magical six stones that killed half of the universe?” He summarised, bored and shaking his head in a clear attempt to tell Peter he didn’t believe a single word.

“They’re not dead.”

“Some of them are,” the man clarified, not looking at Peter all, but at the walls as he questioned.

Peter’s head snapped up, “what?”

“Your half-fix was just that. A half-fix. You have no idea what you’ve done, do you?” 

“We helped. It would’ve happened whether we went up there or not, Thanos—“

“You helped destroy the world,” and his eyes were finally on Peter, cutting through him like a blunt knife did through butter.

Their glares were broken when his head was suddenly pushed forwards and held against the steel table, fingers wrapping tightly around the back of his neck.

“Why are they dying, Peter?” He wondered aloud, and Peter struggled under the grip, taking short breaths and trying to free his arms.

“I don’t know—“

Another grabbed his wrist from behind, while the angry man started speaking, saying things his mind was now blocking out. 

He was seeing glimpses again. Shimmering sand. People dying, people crying. 

_(Head buried into the hot sand, curled up and moving back, hands over his head as he cried._

__

_He cried. So much that he couldn’t even make a sound, couldn’t make himself stop - didn’t think he ever would._

_His fists were clenched, covering his eyes as he saw people drop, try and not get hit by freakin’ balls of fire that were shooting out of nowhere. He would die again. He was going to die again, this time scared and alone.)_

__

__

Things only came into focus again when he felt a sharp, intense pulse in his wrist; he suddenly couldn’t feel his fingers anymore. 

He screamed out as soon as he registered the pain, lifting his head successfully only for it to be slammed down again, sending a throbbing pain through his temple.

“Let’s try that again.”

His screams were replaced by gasps and small cries, because wow, was that pain the most horrible thing in the world right now.

He bent down, “You know, I’m—“

A ringing disrupted them, and Peter watched the man stand up straight - fix himself, then take a phone out of his pocket.

Tears crossed the bridge of his nose, and he could’ve sworn the hold on his neck was tightening, slowly killing him without him realising.

“General Dan—“

Peter heard murmurs from the other line, murmurs that sounded important and annoyed, but he couldn’t make out what they were saying - his mind was fuzzy and he was tired, seeing home every time he closed his eyes - glimpses of May every time he wanted to cry. 

“Yes,” he paused again, “yes, sir, I understand.” 

His eyes flickered hazily at the man as he hung up the phone, sighing with a scoff. The call wasn’t in his favour, Peter guessed, because that phone was now hanging in his hand with disappointment as if it would be thrown across the room next.

All of a sudden, the fingers around his neck loosened, his hands dropped to his side, causing another burst of pain to radiate up his arm. 

He sat up, looking down at what they had done to his wrist. It was a horrible shade of red, was shaking uncontrollably and hurt to look at.

“Luck’s on your side today, boy.” 

Peter looked up at the unconcerned face, then down, unsure of what was going on. 

“Get up.” 

Peter complied readily, then fell forwards, reaching out his arms and steadying himself on the table.

“I can’t.” He said, voice raspy.

* * *

Shades were in his hand, then in his pocket when he realised this was going to take longer than he expected. 

He didn’t show how impatient he was feeling, or how nervous the wait was making him. Or the fact that he was seconds from throwing up.

Instead, he was staring calmly at the corridor, ignoring the looks the guard he had just argued with was giving him. The wait was painstakingly long, and it didn’t even seem real. 

He heard footsteps, and his eyes focused on where the sound was coming from.

It wasn’t Peter that came out, but he recognised who did.

“Stark.”

“Daniels. Where’s the kid?”

“Down the corridor, to your left,” he didn’t waste a second, spewed out the directions like it was nothing, like he didn’t care.

They glared bitterly at each other.

Tony scoffed, “still mad you couldn’t get me in your little dungeon?”

Daniels’ face twitched, unpleasantness shadowing his face, “I got him. This is business.”

Tony wanted to stay, argue and shout that he was boasting about hurting a child. But that child was just a few steps away from him, and getting him was more important right now.

“Well, hope it makes you sleep better at night,” he decided to say, walking past and smiling when he saw the resentment he got in return for his statement.

There was only one open cell to his left, and the bright red and blue fabric did nothing to hide the boy. 

“Peter.”

Peter’s head was resting on the table on top of his arms. He could hear small sniffles, almost feel how defeated Peter looks, and he hadn’t even seen him yet.

He walked forwards, watched Peter lift his head and look to him, but he was standing, and it felt like Peter was having trouble looking up.

So he knelt down, and Peter relaxed, put his head down again. His eyes were glassy and bloodshot, hair damp, or sweaty, or both. The suit looked uncomfortable.

“Hey,” Tony said quietly, but Peter didn’t respond. “Wanna get outta here?”

“Yeah,” his voice cracked, and Tony instantly moved in, pulled Peter in for a hug and felt his hair under his chin, felt him trying to suppress the hurt and his breath hitching.

“You’re okay,” Tony told him, “you’re good now.”

“I hate it here,” Peter mumbled quietly; softly.

Tony sighed in despair, “I know.”

They pulled away, and when Tony looked back to Peter, he swore he saw a tinge of blue in his eyes, something that just wasn’t meant to be there.

“I missed you, buddy.”

Peter huffed a tired laugh, “me too.”

“Come on,” Tony said, standing up and resting a hand on Peter’s shoulder.

Peter didn’t even try, just looked down, and that’s when Tony saw the bruise forming on his wrist.

“Is it broken?”

There was silence, and no answer, but that was answer enough. Enough for Tony to clench his jaw tightly and stop himself from thinking about what he’d do when he saw Daniels standing at the end when they leave.

“I can’t walk.”

Tony frowned, “why not? What’d they do?”

“Nothing. I just—the grounds shaky and I can’t, ever since I came back—“ he took in a breath, “—I know it’s not really, but it is and I’m not crazy—“

Tony bent down, “put your arm over me,” he instructed, and Peter complied, being hoisted up quickly.

“I need clothes.”

Tony smiled, “and I have them.”

He was heavy for someone who looked so small.

“I’m gonna throw up,” Peter half-whispered next, when they were halfway down the hallway.

Tony looked to him in concern, because this wasn’t supposed to be happening. This couldn’t be happening.


	3. Chapter 3

Hazy days were all too common nowadays. 

These were days with nothing to do; nothing to look forwards to, which was actually becoming more and more inviting, which everyone knew just meant the depression was getting out of control.

She saw the way she was falling apart, but even putting the smallest amount of effort towards fixing it coloured her with guilt.

She didn’t move when she heard her phone buzz under her pillow, or when there were knocks at her door so early in the morning. Answering the door seemed like a chore, and there was no one there she would ever be happy to see, no one she was expecting; it wouldn’t be _him._

Staring at the ceiling was her new pastime now, not half-attempting to cook snacks for her and Peter.

It might have sounded dramatic, but she hated being alone - hated watching TV or going on her phone, knowing Peter wasn’t in the room next to hers, just about to call her name and ask her something, or waiting for her to go over there anyway and tell him to go to sleep, or do homework, or ask about his day - ask what he wanted to eat today. 

Her phone buzzed again for the sixth time, and lately, she wasn’t a particularly popular or needed person. So she unclenched her fingers from the duvet, turning her head to her right and feeling around the empty space for her phone, which she found mid-ring.

“Hello,” she sounded tired, completely uninterested in whoever was calling.

A sigh of relief answered her, and she put a hand on her forehead, an unusual frustration building up inside her. 

She just about pulled the phone away to hang up when she heard a real answer. A voice.

“May.”

She recognised it immediately, her eyes perked up - hand shook, and she quickly held onto the phone with both, eyes tearing up.

She pulled the phone away and looked at the unknown number - found herself sitting up with her phone next to her ear again.

“Peter,” she whispered, hoping like hell that she wasn’t daydreaming again, “it’s you right? _Peter?”_

“ _May, you gotta come here, please.”_

“Yeah,” she said without thinking, “yeah, baby, where are you?”

She heard sniffling, muffled talking then static noise before it went silent again.

“ _May, it’s me.”_

“He’s with you?” She asked, frowning. She recognised that voice immediately too, it was the only one always there when Peter wasn’t, in the first few months. “Why would he—“

“ _No, no. I picked him up,_ ” Tony cleared up quickly, of course Peter wouldn’t go there voluntarily and leave May.

There was another pause while she nodded to herself, “is he okay?”

“ _Uh, I’m getting him checked out. You know the way?”_

He hadn’t answered the question, but she decided not to push it. She’d see him, and he’d be fine, why wouldn’t he be?

“Yeah,” she responded.

Then the line went dead; she finally felt alive.

* * *

“He’s showing symptoms. You said he had blue eyes,” Bruce told Tony, eyes widened and waiting for an answer.

Tony scoffed wearily, “I said I _thought_ , and he seems fine.”

“He has a fever, a rising one.”

Tony’s heart twisted, “Yeah, but he’s had a day. If something was gonna go wrong it already would’ve,” he argued, scientifically so.

Bruce looked carefully at Tony before he answered, considering the fact that arguing would only result in anger and sadness and non-acceptance of what he was trying to say, “you’re right. You’re right, he seems—his healing probably took care of it,” he decided to say, which isn’t a _lie_ lie.

Tony sighed a breath of relief, “good. Good.”

Bruce shook his head just as Tony looked away, “wait, Tony, I still think you should be ready,” it felt wrong to let Tony think otherwise, “you should understand.”

Tony stopped, face turned away from Bruce. He pursed his lips and closed his eyes, “I do. You think I don’t understand? I do, I’m not an idiot.”

Bruce instantly flinched, “I’m not saying you are. Acceptance isn’t easy—“

“I accepted that he was dead. It doesn’t seem to be a lot to ask that he survives coming back.” 

Bruce flipped his pen on the table, “you’re right, sorry.”

Tony sighed, turned around and faced his friend, “no, I am, I’m just—sorry, I overreacted.”

“I get it, Tony, I do.”

He watched with squinted eyes as Tony entered Peter’s room.

Bruce was no stranger to what was going on. He had watched Tony wait day by day, observing every minute for the first few days after they came back, thinking it was as easy as a simple reverse to what happened.

It didn’t take a few minutes or seconds. It has been taking several months, and by the looks of it, over a billion people would still be missing by the end of the year. 

Tony stood near the bed, watching over.

“It’s just the fever breaking off,” he assured Peter, who was sweating, shivering and fidgeting way too much all at the same time.

Peter clenched his fists just as another wave of nausea washed over him.

He looked to Tony, “y—you can s—say that because y—you’re not the one l—lying here,” He stammered, teeth clattering quietly. He was _freezing._

Tony gave him a joking eye-roll, unfolding and throwing another blanket on him gently, “standing’s more my style.”

Peter huffed a dry laugh, which transformed into shallow, quick breathing as he alternated between staring at the ceiling and Tony, “but I’m—I’m okay, right?”

Tony froze for a few seconds - resumed with a sharp intake of air, “why wouldn’t you be?”

(“ _And why wouldn’t I be?”_

_Peter stared, blinked like he’d heard the stupidest thing in the world._

_He scoffed, “because—that’s insane!”_

“ _A child on my tail is asking for trouble. I do not need trouble,” the man with the accent responded, sniffing and putting his glasses back on, “kaafi nayi thi jistra,” he muttered under breath._

_Peter took a tired breath, “then I’ll follow you,” he looked up, rubbing his hands in the sand._

_They both watched as the blood stuck to the sand and fell off in clumps._

“ _And I will kill you. Then I will be the one with blood on my hands,” he threatened, “Stay out of my way.”_

_Another tired sigh from Peter, “listen, you gotta let me come, man. I’ll be quiet!”_

_The man didn’t say anything for a good while, just focused on tying his laces and keeping the scarf wrapped around his face. Then he looked up at Peter, staring down with big brown eyes._

“ _You fall behind, I will not wait”)_

“Hey!” Tony said for the third time, snapping his fingers and pulling Peter out of his flashback with a gasp. “What just happened?”

This wasn’t a big deal, and it probably would be as soon as he told Tony. He’d ask questions, tell May, tell the _doctors_. He didn’t want to go down that route.

“Nothing, just thinking,” he decided to say, eyes down.

He yawned, accepted the circles swirling in front of his eyes, then drifted off to sleep.

And he was asleep for another few hours, stirring in and out until he opened his eyes, closing them shut when the brightness hit him.

“Y’know? Not an old soul, probably in my thirties,” that was Tony.

A scoff from someone else, “thirties? You talk like you’re a sixty year old.” Definitely Rhodey.

“I’d be younger than you,” Tony replied, “what do you talk about? _Politics?_ That’s not what young people talk about.”

“Right, because talking about quantum physics makes you young?”

Another ridiculed scoff, “that’s Bruce. I’m pretty popular with the young generation.”

“Are you serious right now? Have you been watching the news? No one’s discussing quantum physics—,” 

“Why do you keep coming back to physics? When have I ever—“

“If you’re gonna say—“

“I _will_ say it, because you don’t know the difference between—“

“Alright, just shut up,” Rhodes cut him off jokingly.

“I still think I’d be twenty.”

“Yeah, okay, man, it’s _your_ fantasy,” 

The rest blurred when he took a deep breath, and the blackness and feeling of nothingness returned, enveloping him in.


	4. Chapter 4

He woke up some time later, having no concept of time. He didn’t know what _year_ it was, let alone day. 

He wasn’t there anymore though, he’d know by now if he was. His hand trembled, and he lifted it up, straightening it and focusing on it to see if it wavered.

“—I mean it’s one way of looking at it,” his ears caught out all of a sudden, and he turned his head to the right, making out four shadows behind the blinds of his room.

“It’s the _only_ way of looking at it,” that was Tony, and he sounded angry and annoyed.

There was silence, then “this can help people,” an awkward voice suggested, someone he didn’t recognise. 

“Not now. May?”

He could make her out - the shortest and her ashy brown hair showing through the slits.

“Couldn’t he do it later?”

“Sure,” the other person replied, “that’s all I’m asking.”

“Okay, thanks.”

* * *

“Chips?” 

Peter smiled, rolling his head to see her holding the bag in her hands, brows furrowed waiting for an answer.

“No.” He said quietly, and she put it aside on the table. “How long do I have to stay here?”

She opened her mouth to speak but closed it quickly, eyes wandering somewhere else, “I don’t know, but it’s not that bad, they’re just being cautious. They’re just helping.”

And he got that, he did, but he hated it. Hated being in the middle of a huge room where everyone just seemed to huddle around in whenever they felt like.

Hated staying on the bed knowing there was nothing visibly wrong with him.

“Let them.” May repeated, and Peter looked at her again when he noticed the upset in her voice.

“Okay,” is all he said, looking back at the ceiling.

He knew she was still staring at him, and didn’t say anything until she did.

“I know it’s only been a day, but you can tell me what happened,” she told him, patience in her voice that _he_ felt was running thin. 

He turned to her again, and she smiled, “please?”

( _“Please! You gotta help, Peter!_ ”

_He didn’t know her. Had never seen her before in his life, and opened his mouth to say something, but her scream was cut off in a horrible screech._

_He looked down._

_Sand. Blinding sand._

_He ran a panicked hand through his hair, pulling at the strands as he gasped to himself, stumbling backwards._

_Random wails mixed with the howls of the warm wind brushed around him; pushed him around and threatened to take this feeling of helplessness to a whole new level._

_He hadn’t in all the time he’d been here, but his eyes still never stopped searching for familiarity - anything to ground him._

_“It happens. Keep trekking._ ”)

He jolted, the words of the hallucination still echoing in his ears.

“What happened?”

“Nothing.”

“You saw something.”

“I didn’t.”

She sighed, irritably, because she so desperately wanted to understand what he was going through, and what he was trying so hard to suppress, “Peter, you remember what happened after Ben died?”

He looked down ashamedly, “Yeah.” 

“Just...can you just talk to me?”

He felt trapped, “no.”

She took his hand and he nearly pulled away, but he knew they both just had to be there for each other — so why was it so hard for him? Why was he being difficult?

“Okay,” she let go when he didn’t say anything, and he wished she didn’t, “I’m a little hungry, I’ll be back.”

She wasn’t hungry, “May, wait—“

She was already up, “I’ll be back,” she cut him off, making her way out the room in a few short strides.

“May!“ 

And she was gone.

He buried his head back into the pillow, guilt hitting him all over. This was his fault. Just like all the other times.

And the thoughts. Don’t forget the thoughts — he was all alone now. That was how it always ended. 

He lifted his head up again - looked at the door, waiting for someone, just a shadow. He’d know at least that he was _here_.

“Isn’t that tiring?”

His head quickly turned to the other side to see a young boy - young _him_ ; young Peter. “You’re not here,” he mumbled to himself, head back on the pillow.

“Yeah, I am!” The boy said defensively, frowning at him, “I’ve never been here before.”

Peter didn’t reply, just closed his eyes and hoped he’d block out all the talking; talking which wasn’t actually here.

“Now everyone will think you’re crazy,” the rambles of an innocent six-year old, ending with a laugh.

He opened his eyes again, and sat back up, looking down at the big brown eyes staring at him, curious and full of life and waiting for an answer.

“How do you even work?”

The boy shrugged, “I dunno. Ben’s gonna be home soon, and he’s taking me to buy the Lego set. You know the one? I sawed it on the TV,” he rambled uselessly, a Lego piece appearing in his hand out of nowhere.

“Ned’s gonna be _so_ excited!” He exclaimed, grinning to himself, swaying the red piece in his hand, then he looked up, “you like Lego’s.”

It looked real. He leaned forwards; he could almost touch—

“Hey,” 

He nearly fell right off the bed, steadying himself and taking a hurried breath as he turned his head back to the door.

 _Mr Stark_.

He opened his mouth to speak, his eyes involuntarily looking back at the spot the boy was at. He wasn’t there anymore.

“What’s wrong?” Tony asked, and Peter wasn’t sure what to say that. Definitely not that he was seeing things that weren’t there. They’d all call him whacked out, which maybe he was, but he didn’t need that. He had it under control.

“Nothing,” he decided to say, after a few awkward seconds of silence.

Tony nodded, “I saw May, she looked upset.”

Peter’s eyes shifted hesitantly, “I just—she’s asking a lot and I can’t—“ he inhaled, “I don’t know what I’m seeing, and I can’t explain it and—“

“I get it,” Tony shrugged - stopped him from explaining himself, “vague daydreams. Nightmares. Not uncommon after traumatic events—“

Peter frowned, turning to Tony, “ _daydreams?_ ”

Tony raised his brows, “they don’t have to be bad,” he explained, “I know the last thing you remember is the—“ he stopped, eyes twinkling in realisation, “what _do_ you remember?”

“What were you gonna say?” Peter asked, voice strained, fearing for the answer.

“Peter—“

“Does no one remember what happened when they were in the stone? That’s—that doesn’t even make any sense, how is that—“

“You remember what happened in the stone?”

Peter stared as if he’d been asked the stupidest question ever, “I was in there for months, why wouldn’t I remember?”

Tony was stuck on what to say, which was rare. He stepped closer, slowly, “don’t tell anyone that,” he warned, fear underlying his tone.

Peter looked into his eyes. “Why not?”

“Because that’s—are you sure you remember? Or is it just your mind—“

“I know what happened.”

“—because no one else does, Peter. And if there are the few exceptions, which is highly likely, we don’t know them.”

A chill ran through Peter, and he looked back to the spot he’d seen the hallucination.

“I know you won’t, but you know what’ll happen if anyone finds out you remember,” there was raw concern in Tony’s voice, which Peter appreciated.

“I haven’t told anyone.”

“And it stays that way.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is anyone even reading this lol, I really prefer it to my other one!?


	5. Chapter 5

“Any disorientation?” Helen asked, eyes on her clipboard as she scribbled away.

Peter kept a straight face, repeating his answer for the tenth time, “no.”

“Well,” she looked over the paper in front of her one last time, looking for any thing that wasn’t supposed to be there. She really couldn’t have anything go wrong on her watch. “You’re good to go,” she nodded to herself.

He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes, “great,” he mumbled, unsure why he couldn’t bring himself to feel good about this. Feel _anything_.

Helen blinked uncomfortably, “you know, you’re doing really good,” she told him, because it was fear and anxiety that was radiating off him.

Peter stared for a few seconds, unsure of what to say. He inhaled, “yeah, thanks.”

“Your aunt’s outside, I’ll call Stark—“

“That’s okay! I mean—y’know he’s busy, I’m fine,” he shrugged, putting a stop to his rambling, which was the only thing making him feel grounded at the moment. He talked and talked and he thought less about everything else.

Helen gave him a sad smile, which made him feel worse, if that possible, “sure, if you’re sure.”

“I am,” Peter said, standing up from the edge of the bed, “thanks, Miss Cho.”

“You’re very welcome,” she replied with a smirk, watching him leave the room. And she hoped he’d be okay.

He stopped at the door when she called his name again, and he watched her sigh.

“If anything happens that shouldn’t be...happening, call me, or come here, alright?” 

He would’ve at least smiled at her social awkwardness any other day, but instead nodded his head.

“Okay, Peter, goodbye.”

* * *

She stopped the car in a red zone down the block, tapping the wheel as her eyes scanned the area.

“You sure you don’t wanna come with me?” She asked again, a gnawing feeling eating away at her.

“Yeah, May,” he said for the fifth time. As much as he loved her, watching her work was the last thing he needed. 

She gave him a shaky nod, then looked in the side mirror, “okay. I’ll drop—“

He huffed a laugh, “I know the way home, May, I didn’t lose my memory.”

She didn’t find it funny at all, just glared at him as if someone had died, and he undid his seatbelt.

He stopped and glanced at her, “sorry, bad joke, I’ll be fine. Promise.”

“Okay. Okay, yeah, I’m overreacting—“

“You’re not,” he cut in, and he took that as his cue to get out, and slammed the door shut.

She watched him walk a few steps and quickly rolled the window down and drove forwards, “Peter! Wait!”

He blinked and turned, bending down next to the window.

She grabbed a key from near the clutch, “the key.”

He frowned, “there’s a key—“

“There were—robberies, I took it out,” she explained before he could finish, her hand reaching out to him with the rusty key.

He took it from her, then said another goodbye. Then waited before she waved and drove off before he started walking again.

It seemed unreal. Like visiting elementary school. Like he hadn’t been on these streets in years, when it had only really been a few odd months.

He got to the revolving doors in a few short minutes, and pushed his way in.

His self-pity disappeared when he got inside and was met with the wallpapered walls. Walls with pictures of nearly half the people that lived there plastered on, with contact numbers on the bottom. Eliza Fischer, Daniel Gyver, a bunch of other people he had seen on multiple occasions; the old woman he often carried groceries for, the angry boy who tried pushing him down the stairs once, the lady who always asked how he was on the elevators.

“Jer?”

He broke out of his thoughts and turned, watched as the man who had assumedly called his name teared up in disappointment.

“Sorry, sorry I thought—“ he shook his head to himself and headed down the hall before Peter could say anything. 

Peter turned back to the wall. They’d all come back. They’d be back, it was nothing to get upset over.

He pushed the elevator button, and stepped aside when it opened and a couple walked out.

He got in and pushed for the seventh floor, a strange feeling of nostalgia wrapping around him and taking him in its arms.

The elevator jerked a few times, and he got out on the seventh, the only place which hadn’t seemed to age a day. No pictures, nothing unusual. No one wandering the halls, although that seemed like an overstatement.

He took the key out of his pocket and pushed it into the lock, jerking it open.

He suddenly didn’t want to be here. It didn’t feel right. Felt like there was something he was doing wrong just by being here.

He barely had time to get inside when there was a knock at the door. He mindlessly opened it again?

“Who the hell are you?” 

Peter tensed - moved back just a little when the man stepped forwards possibly to intimidate him.

“I’m—“

The man’s head tilted and eyes widened in realisation, “your May’s kid,” he interrupted, running a hand over his mouth with a huff of surprise and a smile, “where is she?”

And he pushed past Peter, who moved back with a flinch - watched as the stranger put his keys on the side table and made his way in, as if he’d been living here longer than Peter.

“She’s at work,” Peter said, leaving the door open, desperately hoping he would leave after the statement.

“At work already,” he said quietly, exhaling, “I’m Alex.”

Peter stared. He still had no idea who ‘Alex’ was. Or why he was acting like he lived here.

“Alright, I know what you’re thinking.”

“I’m not—“

“Let her have this. She was so broken up over you, and you weren’t even here,” Alex scoffed, never taking his eyes off Peter, “and now you are, and she’s probably getting worse.”

Suddenly, Peter didn’t want to be in the same room as this guy — wanted to run away and come back to find him gone. He mentally cursed himself for opening the door in the first place.

“She’s fine.”

“Don’t you think she’s getting worse?” Alex asked again, ignoring his reply.

Peter fidgeted, “I don’t know—she won’t be back until later,” he paused, waiting for him to move to the door, “so you don’t have to stay.”

The man stared back at him as if he’d just told a joke, “ _I don’t have to stay_?” He was glaring with fury, “The hell I don’t, who do you think you are? You were dead for months and you—what? You think time just froze for you?”

Peter’s eyes widened, and a tingling sensation of fear and confusion crawled up his spine, “no, I—“

Alex pushed him back, hand on Peter’s shoulder as he stilled against the wall, not moving out of fear and _knowing_ he couldn’t use his strength.

“Don’t talk to me like that again,” Alex snapped, “and look at me when I’m talking to you.”

Peter did. He looked, hesitantly so, a paralysing fear crushing him from the inside, because he realised he wouldn’t be able to fight back. His eyes shifted speedily between Alex and the fridge behind him in panic.

“And you keep this between us,” he said, voice so low that it was terrifying Peter to the core. 

Peter’s heart was thudding against his chest, skipped a beat when Alex pushed his shoulder back and let him go.

“Tell her I stopped by, _Peter_ ,” he heard Alex yell as the door slammed, and he rested his head against the wall, taking uneven breaths. 

_Just a push, no need to panic so much_ , he told himself.

Just a damn push.

_Get it together, Peter._

If he couldn’t handle a push, he couldn’t be Spider-Man. But he could totally defend himself, he _chose_ not to, yeah, it was his choice.

* * *

He asked May about Alex that night. 

“He came by?” She sounded surprised. Even a little upset. Maybe she didn’t like him.

Peter tensed, “what’s wrong?”

“He was Ben’s friend. Long time ago. Then he—“ she cut herself off and shrugged, “he did something one night, and we stopped. Being friends.”

“When?”

“You were young. Just a year after...”

He understood. 

“Why’s he back now?”

“He came back after the whole—this snap. Said it made him realise he’d made a mistake. Says he wanted to fix things,” she shrugged again, as if it was no big deal, even a tinge of humour in her voice.

Peter didn’t react, “do you like him?”

She sighed, “he has problems. Lots of them.”

“But you like him?” Peter asked again, betrayal in his tone.

May looked at him, “no, no, he was just hanging out. Actually he was cleaning up while I cried in my room,” she said without thinking, then realised what she’d said because her face froze. 

A pang of guilt, for both of them.

“He helped?”

“He was on leave. Still is, apparently a lot of people where he worked—“ she stopped, “he had his own practice. He’s a dentist.”

She found a good guy. Or he found her. All while Peter wasn’t there.

“Is he staying here?”

May quickly shook her head, “no, god, no. I don’t know what he’s doing, he’s helping—it’s one-sided. He’s a friend.”

A rude friend.

“Is he gonna be coming here often?”

May’s face changed, “did he say something to you?”

Peter inhaled, “what? No.”

“Are you sure? If he did, you have to tell—“

“I was just asking.”

She didn’t push it - that never ended well for either of them. She felt horrible for thinking so, but Peter had changed into someone who apparently couldn’t share his problems with her, and she felt like it was destroying her more than harming him.

“I don’t know. Until he gets a job or his staff back, probably,” she paused, then huffed a laugh, “we used to be so close.”

“You missed him?”

“He got into a fight, with Ben. We were young, we were kids,” she scoffed.

They were young. They were in their twenties when they had to suddenly take care of a child that got dumped on their front door.

“Alex said something, Ben didn’t like it—I didn’t like it. It got physical, and that was that. I hadn’t thought about him in years.”

“May,” he paused, “you think you two will, maybe, end up together?”

May didn’t gasp in surprise like he’d expected her to, or reject the proposal straight away.

“I don’t think so, sweetie.”

She smiled, patted his back then got up from his bed, “lights on?”

“No.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is anyone even readingg


	6. Chapter 6

_He was running; no time to catch his breath, no time to think._

_He skidded to a stop when a figure appeared in front of him, back turned and facing silhouettes of hundreds of thousands of people he couldn’t quite make out._

_And they all started disappearing, one by one starting from the front, all dead._

_The figure in front held the back of his neck with both hands, bending down in panic and muttering under his breath._

_“I was—wasn’t supposed to happen—“ he turned around, and Peter staggered backwards, maybe out of shock, maybe out of fear._

_It was himself._

_His duplicate self stepped towards him, fear stricken — scared out of his mind , “I tried!” He yelled, and just seeing himself stand in front, you’d think seeing yourself wouldn’t be so strange and scary._

_So he continued to stare, and watched himself fall apart and felt his own insides twist and turn, threatening to destroy him._

_”You didn’t.” A voice from behind answered disappointedly, and he turned quickly to the flood of people standing there, dressed in suits — Ross, all the guards he’d seen, the man in the interrogation room. Alex._

“ _Come on—“_

_He turned back round — watched when his sentence was cut off, because he was now crumbling away into nothing._

_“Help,” Peter whispered quietly, moving forwards and trying to hold onto himself, “help!” And he was trying to hold onto nothing now, because there was an empty spot where he once stood._

He woke up in a struggle, heard himself mumble something just as he did. He lay frozen for a few minutes, listening to the uncharacteristically quiet city outside. 

It had to be early - there was no sign of light so far. He turned on his back and sighed deeply, rubbing his eyes and trying to avoid the prominent thudding of his heart.

He yawned, then closed his eyes to try and get back to sleep. Not sleeping wasn’t a problem for him before, it shouldn’t be now. He’d had his fair share of problems, this was just one of them, and he had to tell himself he’d get over it.

But he knew he wouldn’t be able to sleep now, however hard he tried, something would always be there - his thudding heart, constant anxiety, the millions of thoughts of how he could’ve done things differently, even though he couldn’t do anything about that now.

* * *

Peter sighed, clenching and unclenching his fists constantly. The fact that he was breaking his skin every time he did didn’t seem to bother him so much, because her glare was much more painful to endure.

“Okay, let’s talk about your aunt,” she moved on, after it became clear he wouldn’t speak, but that was also okay.

He still didn’t look up, just stared at the moving decor in front of him. He felt a little guilty for not speaking, knowing the woman was just trying to help. She’d been hired to just help, and he should let her, but he couldn’t bring himself to tell her anything. What if she used it against him? What if she said he was crazy? That was insane, least of all because she explained it to him before that she couldn’t do that, but he still wouldn’t talk.

“I know it must’ve been difficult seeing her after all this time,” she continued, seeing he didn’t.

This time he looked up, a frown on his face, “why would it be difficult?” It was the least difficult thing he’d had to, considering the past few months.

A quick flash of confusion crossed her face, and if he didn’t have his abilities or wasn’t staring at her so focusedly, he would’ve missed it.

“That’s not what I meant,” she clarified, shifting in her position and tapping the pen a few times.

He wanted to start talking about it — tell her May didn’t understand what was happening and she never would. 

“I meant, how was it finally seeing her? You two only have each other, I bet she missed you tremendously.”

He fidgeted, just a little, “yeah, I guess she did,” it slipped out before he could stop himself, and he knew what was coming.

“You didn’t?”

“Of course I did,” what a stupid question. But the answer wasn’t as straightforward as he made it seem.

She nodded, and it felt like she was actively trying to catch him out on a lie, and he hated it, “why do you say you ‘guess’ she did?”

He’d say the reason was Alex, but knew what she’d say — he was overreacting.

“I don’t know, maybe because I wasn’t actually here. Alive. To see her do whatever she was doing,” it came out way harsher than he intended, but his therapist seemed unmoved and unsurprised by the outburst, “how would I know what she was doing?” 

“Peter, that’s not what I’m saying at all.”

Peter didn’t reply, so she continued, “I’m sure she’s told you how much she did.”

“I don’t wanna talk about her,” he decided, because she was the least of his problems. She cared about him, she wasn’t an issue, and why they were talking about her like she was just annoyed him.

Miss Delaney sighed, “I know you met her friend. The one whose been staying over.”

“What about it?”

“How was he? How did he react to seeing you?”

_Don’t talk to me like that._

Peter put a hand on his neck, the table in front him blurring and tilting a little as he leaned forwards.

_He’s a dentist._

“Yeah, f—fine,” he couldn’t help but stammer, even though he tried hard not to, because only scared people stammered, and now she’d know.

“Did he say something that upset you?” 

He looked up, licked his lips in nervousness, started to shake his leg, “no. ‘Course not.”

She didn’t seem satisfied. And he was a horrible liar, one who didn’t want to crack under the next few questions.

“I don’t wanna do this anymore,” he snapped, grabbing his bag from the side of the sofa and standing up.

“Peter—“

But Peter was already halfway out the door, ignoring her yells and pleads to ‘just sit down’ and ‘calm down’.

By the time he reached home, a fire he didn’t know how to control was raging inside him, burning him from the inside.

He twisted his key into the lock with shaky hands. May would be upset. Mr Stark would be angry. Everyone would tell him they were only trying to help him.

The door opened and he pushed it angrily, closing it behind him as soon as he was inside.

“Weren’t you at therapy?”

He flinched, then turned to see the _one_ face he really didn’t want to see at the moment.

“Home early,” Alex announced, and Peter was controlling his urge to roll his eyes and say something sarcastic back, because he was alone with the man. Again. And that was also precisely why he _couldn’t_ do anything like that

“Yeah, first sessions are short,” he decided to say, void of all wittiness. And he started to get angry at May for always letting Alex just be here.

Alex nodded, “that’s cool. Getting help is the best thing you can do after all of this,” he advised.

Peter looked up and gave him a fake smile, “yeah, that’s—yeah. Helpful.”

The man moved closer, and Peter moved closer to the door, “you wouldn’t have seen a fifty-dollar bill on the table, by any chance,” he asked, narrowing his eyes.

Peter stared, because this had to be a joke, “no,” he said, looking over to the table, “maybe it fell off somewhere.”

“You were the only one home this morning,” he raised his brows, and it didn’t sound like a statement, it sounded like a threat. 

Peter frowned, “I—I didn’t see it,” he shrugged.

Alex scoffed, “Come on, Peter, you were the only one here,” he squinted, staring with stone cold eyes, “well?”

“I don’t know what to tell you—“

The man leaped at him, and Peter moved aside, barely missing the fist that slammed into the door behind him instead.

What he couldn’t miss was the hand, which wrapped around the back of his neck, blunt nails almost breaking into his skin and the other arm pushing him back as he weakly tugged at the wrist.

Alex’s face shook with anger, and Peter took short, shallow breaths, pushing his head as further back against the door as he could.

“Don’t lie to me.”

He could get out, he knew he could. But his mind was jumbled and limbs refused to cooperate, just uselessly frozen to the spot.

“I’m not—“

He made a face, and Peter took that as his cue to stop talking, because the last thing he wanted was to make this guy angrier than he already was.

And that was how Peter found himself on the roof, legs over the edge as he stared down, wondering how he got here. How he had so many unsolvable problems being thrown at him at once.

The wind swirled around him, and he bit his bottom lip, watching the traffic below. Something seemed off in the world now - in _him._

His phone buzzed, and he sniffed, reaching into his pocket. Happy. He knew exactly what this was about, and picked up.


	7. Chapter 7

Happy didn’t lecture him, he didn’t shout or speak with the normal level of sarcasm. It actually didn’t sound like Happy at all.

“I’m across the convenience store,” he said, after Peter told him he was on the roof, and of course Happy was concerned, and he made no effort concealing that fact.

Peter looked down at the street one last time, and his breath trembled - he jumped off the other side of the ledge and made his way out. 

The elevator ride was smooth, and gratefully didn’t stop on his floor to give any possible chance of bumping into Alex again, who was probably still steaming inside somewhere.

He reached the empty lobby - noticed one of the posters on the floor. Maddy Cohen, five years old. Studying it for a few seconds, he picked it up and placed it between the others on the wall. She’d be back.

He stepped outside and looked up the street he’d been dreaming of the last few months. He was back, and everything would go back to normal.

The car was distinct, and he recognised it immediately. 

Happy nodded for him to get in when he came into view, and he stepped to the back.

“The front. Sit here,” the man said, rolling down the windows before Peter could get inside.

So he did. He sat next to Happy, who stared at him for a few uncomfortable seconds.

“What?” 

“May called me,” he replied, and Peter frowned.

She called _Happy?_ “Why? Why would she call you

“Because Dr Delmore called _her_.”

“Delaney.”

“What?”

“Her name’s Dela—Why are you here?”

“You quit halfway through?” Happy questioned, and Peter shrunk under his stare. He should’ve sat in the back, he’d gotten pretty good at avoiding Happy there.

He shrugged, “it’s my fourth day back, and—I don’t wanna—“ he ran a hand over his mouth.

Happy looked ahead, “it’s alright. Are you planning on going back?”

“No,” he said simply, hand on the back of his neck.

Happy nodded, “that’s—Okay. You alright?”

“Yeah.”

“Your neck alright?”

He quickly pulled his hand away and nodded before he could get words out, “y—yeah, just slept funny.”

That was a good enough answer. “Alright.”

“Now what?”

“You wanna go see Tony?”

* * *

“I can’t,” he answered, his hands on the back of his neck, which Tony had learned was his new tick.

Peter was tapping his foot, avoiding all eye contact and refusing to look up. He couldn’t explain it, and he didn’t want to, he just needed things to be good for one day. Just needed a break.

“Yeah? Why not?” Tony asked, eyes on the monitor and occasionally glancing to the boy.

Peter looked down, jaw clenched and unknowingly biting his lips, “I don’t want to. Not today.”

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen the boy smile. He definitely couldn’t remember the last time he’d stayed over.

He sighed, and finally turned to face Peter, “why not?” he asked again, trying his hardest to take a look at Peter’s face. 

“Because Alex is there today, Mr Stark, and I don’t wanna be near him,” he said bluntly.

Tony nodded, “I’m not the worlds best parent, but that doesn’t mean she won’t have time for you, kid, he’s not taking her away,” he looked up to him, “ever,” then he noticed the time.

Peter watched him make that face that said it was time to go home and get over whatever it was he came to get over, “you said come here anytime I needed to,” he pointed out before Tony could start.

“Yeah, but it’s late and not when—“ he cut himself off. That didn’t sound right. “May’s probably worried, it’s only been three days, you should be with her.”

Just a break. Just for someone to be on his side and not ask so many questions, or tell him what to do—tell him he’s right for once.

Tony wasn’t that someone, he decided.

“Alright,” Peter answered, pulling his hand away from his neck and standing up. He had to stop, he had to stop with the hand.

Tony didn’t miss the bright red lines that he’d scratched, and then he turned and started to leave, “wait, Pete—“

“No, sorry, it’s—I’m being—“ he stammered, he didn’t know what he was saying anymore, he just didn’t want to be here. He inhaled, “sorry.”

He would find Ned if this was any other day, but Ned wasn’t here. And MJ—not her, he couldn’t go to her. She had so many problems of her own, and he didn’t even know if she was here. It was fine — he could do this. He could wander around the city till May was back, or—

Tony power-walked after him, “wait, Peter, it’s not what I meant. You can stay—“

Peter stopped walking, turned to face Tony, “No, you’re right, this isn’t an emergency,” the jitteriness in his voice was bold and popping as he shrugged. Unlike him. “Happy’s waiting, probably, or I’ll go on my own, no big deal.”

Then Peter was nearly out of the lab, halfway up the stairs as Tony scrambled after him in a panic.

It was a big deal. He was halfway across the city.

“I’ll drop you off!” Tony called, quickly stopping and patting himself down for the keys or his phone, “ _damnit,_ wait, Peter—“

“I’m good, Mr Stark,” was the reply, and he didn’t even stop or turn to say it.

“You sure? It’s up to—“ he stopped running mid-way up the stairs when Peter was out of sight, “up to you,” he whispered, panting as he slowed down.

“Great,” he muttered, trekking back down and placing a hand on the scanner. The door opened with a soft click, and his eyes caught the side table, where the keys were, because _of course_ they were there.

He stood there for a minute and replayed the conversation in his head, then the door opened behind him and he turned on his heels in hope.

Pepper. 

He frowned as she held the door open, nodding with her phone in her hand, “I can call you in the morning,” she sighed, and frowned to herself, “yes, that’s fine.” 

Then she looked to Tony — took her Bluetooth out, “all day,” she sighed tiredly, and put that and her phone to the side.

“Perks of the job, I guess, I wouldn’t know,” he shrugged, and she raised her brows.

“Yeah,” she huffed, “not like you did this for twenty years,” she answered.

He managed a smile, then turned and started to walk to his desk, “drink? I have a—Dum-E I left the smoothie right here,” he slammed the table lightly.

The machine made a noise, but that was enough for Tony to gasp.

“You—who asked you to throw it away? Because I didn’t!”

Pepper huffed a laugh, “the fact that you understand whatever it says is actually kind of mind blowing.”

“Yeah?” He smiled, and she shook her head, “It’s barely nine, I still have an hour, Pep.”

She smirked, “that was James on the phone.”

His eyes perked up, “James? We’re on a first name basis now?”

“He said he won’t sign until you meet with him.

“Are you serious? Tell me you’re not serious, because you’re the one supposed to—“

“It’s not pass the parcel. He says it’s your division, he wants to meet, make sure you’re ‘committed’ to the project.”

Tony scoffed, “I’m—“

“I know. Tony, I know this isn’t your priority,” she interrupted, because this was the last thing he wanted, “but this is our company, and—“

“Fine,” he waved both hands in the air vaguely for a second, “but if he’s not convinced—“

“Then we’ll go with Golds, but he’s more of a profits guy, which is why James is the guy,” she said before he could, then looked to the stairs, “I heard Peter leaving.”

“You heard that? He probably hates me.”

She scoffed a laugh, “he does not hate you. What did you say?” 

He shrugged, replayed the conversation _again_ , “he wanted to stay, I said he should go home.”

A frown crossed her face, “right, that’s _all_ you said.”

“I did! He was—I don’t know. I don’t know,” he threw two hands in the air in defeat, “doesn’t like his aunt’s friend, said he didn’t wanna be there with him.”

Pepper’s eyes flickered, and Tony tilted his head.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“You have a look. I _know _that look, tell me what you’re thinking.”__

__“Well,” she started, “and I might be completely wrong because I didn’t even talk to him, but maybe this guy’s trouble.”_ _

__“Guy? Alex?” It threw him off, because he never thought about that._ _

__“Maybe, yeah. Or maybe Peter’s just having a hard time settling back in. I know you said he remembers every single thing that happened, you remember when you got back?” She asked._ _

__He thought back to it, all those years ago and he could still remember everything that happened in those few, long days._ _

__“You couldn’t sleep, you’d make all these—“ she huffed at the memory, “— _horrible_ decisions, and make me _so_ angry and that was—you were trying to tell yourself that you could do it all and didn’t need anyone else.”_ _

__He shook a nod, “see, now I just feel like we’re bringing up all of my dark, dark—“_ _

__She laughed, “I’m serious.”_ _

__“You’re right. Probably. You’re probably right. Maybe I give him some time. Figure it out.”_ _

__“That’s probably smart. You’re helping him more than you know. And all the others.”_ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you’re all still reading. I know it’s probably annoying that he won’t tell anyone but realistically, very few kids do especially considering it’s a stranger. I have a few chapters planned before he does.


	8. Chapter 8

Two weeks passed after his conversation in the lab, and that meant he’d had a good amount of time replaying it in his head and along with it, convincing himself he said the wrong thing and shouldn’t go back there for a while.

May didn’t look too happy with that, and Happy definitely didn’t appreciate being told once he was outside their apartment that he ‘wasn’t feeling well’ and couldn’t go the first two times. After that, they stopped asking.

But it’d only been a week, and Peter still felt terrible that he had been ignoring everyone who’d been trying to talk to him, and that meant it was his fault they stopped texting.

He couldn’t help but blame it all on Alex. Truthfully, he really wanted to talk to them, and maybe they’d ask a few questions, and he’d tell them what a horrible person this guy was. But he shouldn’t want to do that, he wanted to but he couldn’t, so taking talking out of the equation definitely solved that problem.

MJ hadn’t been back, maybe he pissed her off too.

A knock on his door disrupted his thoughts, and he looked to his right as the door creaked open, and May’s head popped in.

“How’s—how’s it going?” She asked.

He smiled, “uh, good,” he replied, and she nodded, then stood there for a while with an excited smile on her face, “May.”

“Yes?”

“What is it?”

“Okay, you wanna go camping?”

His eyes widened, “camping? Where?”

“I found this beautiful place, you know, there’s a lake, hiking, it’ll be fun.”

“Just you and me?”

She nodded, “well, he told me about it but he’s not coming,” then she closed the door and stepped inside cautiously, “I told him he couldn’t come,” she whispered with a smirk.

He huffed a laugh, “yeah?”

“Oh, yeah. So?”

“When?”

“Before school—speaking of school,” she sat down on his chair, “starting in a month.”

“That doesn’t even make sense,” he said, a trace of betrayal in his tone.

“I know, but they say the more normalcy the better. Wanna get an idea of how many kids there are, it’s in the email. October 18th, and depending on the numbers maybe a year’s delay.”

School. There were more more important things than school right now. He couldn’t think about school. 

“Alright,” he muttered regardless, not wanting to make a huge issue out of this. 

She hesitated a little, then gave a long sigh, “how’s—uh, Spider-Man going? Thinking of going out again?”

His head jerked up, and he narrowed his eyes at the question, “ You didn’t like me doing that anyway,” he shrugged, and it was true.

Her eyes filled with a worrying sadness, and for a good few seconds, it looked like she’d cry. “I did, but you loved it. And now you haven’t—“ she shrugged, “are you okay?”

He stared for a while, mind telling him to tell her everything, but also making him feel like a bigger idiot for thinking that considering she couldn’t really do anything to help, “yeah, ‘course.”

“Peter.” Her head tilted and the ‘that’s bullshit’ look flashed on her face.

He hated the thought of going out as Spider-Man actually, because all it would remind him of was the way the suit stuck to him like wet tissue and the horrible memory attached to everything else that happened that day. He couldn’t even look at it right now..

“I’m settling in.”

“You want something to…occupy yourself with?”

He chuckled, “are you trying to recruit me again?”

“It’s a good job,” she defended, “I mean not the most fun job, obviously, but you’re helping so many people, and you’d be good at it.”

“How did you get it?”

“I quit as soon as it happened,” she explained, “then Jules called, told me there was this opening and I wasn’t interested, but then she told me what it was.

“And I thought, hey, one of these days it’ll be Peter’s name on the paper.” 

Peter gave her a look, and she waved her hand, “well, it wasn’t exactly like that, but it happened, didn’t it?”

“Yeah, yeah.”

“Peter, you remember that guy that died on the third floor?”

He frowned, “uh, I can’t remember—“

“Zen Zenith.”

“Zen—“ he broke into a laugh, “yeah, him, that’s—I’m—sorry for laughing.”

“He wasn’t dead, they found him a few months ago in a park, ran his fingerprint because he started running around trying to grab people, and guess who?”

“He—that’s crazy. I’ve never met someone who faked their death, that’s—that’s so—“

“Crazy, yeah, yeah, should’ve seen his face.”

“You were there?” He asked in surprise, leaning back against the frame.

She made a face, “totally.”

“I wanna come with you. For a day”.

She smiled, then it faltered, “I know I’ve been pushing it, but are you ready to?”

“I think so.”

“Okay,” she glanced around his room, “in a week or two, I’ll try get you in.”

“Is he leaving soon?”

The question was sudden, and May’s head turned to him in lightning speed with a frown, “Why?”

“Just asking,” he shrugged, really not wanting to hash it all out right now.

“Why don’t you like him?” She asked, all genuine and concerned, which made him feel worse because she’d been happy and maybe she was wondering why her nephew was intent on wrecking her life.

“I don’t—“

“Don’t shrug again,” she warned just as he was midway making up another lie and repeating the same action he’d been repeating for the last week.

He sighed, “it feels weird with him here,” he decided to say, and it wasn’t a complete lie. 

She studied him carefully, “you know I asked you before if he said anything, you have to tell me, because he had a temper those years ago—“ she scoffed, “and I want you to be happy in your home.”

“I am.”

She wasn’t buying it, “really? You don’t look it,” She sniffled, and now he made her cry, “why don’t you talk to me?”

He opened his mouth to speak but nothing came out, because he didn’t know what to say to that. He couldn’t tell her about the hallucinations because she’d think he was even more helpless than now, and Alex was...whatever he was, she was relieved around him.

“Peter.”

“I’m sorry,” he said pathetically, knowing his half-assed apology was the last thing she needed, she wanted an explanation and she wanted him to tell her everything, and he just couldn’t do that.

“I know you ran from Dr Delney,” she stated.

“Delaney,” he looked up, “her name, it’s Delaney,” he sighed and spoke with full confidence, “I didn’t run, I just didn’t wanna tell her anything—I didn’t even know her.”

What an excuse, his mind hit, because he could guess exactly what was coming next.

“You know _me_ ,” May emphasised, “and I thought maybe if he refuses to say a single word than yeah, Happy, of course a therapist sounds good, except Peter won’t talk to her either,” she shook her head in almost disappointment.

He felt like opening that window and webbing himself out of here this second.

“But no, because you won’t talk to anyone, and you’re having nightmares, and I hear you talk in your sleep, I watch you black out, and you deny it, this isn’t—Peter just—“

“It’s only been—why are you so angry at me?” It was a loud question, and he realised he’d raised his voice. He looked at her, and it looked like she’d either start crying or arguing, and if they argued, it’d be loud, regretful and devoid of both of them listening to what the other had to say.

It was the latter, because she inhaled sharply then she let it out - whatever she was holding in.

“You refuse to talk. You refuse to listen to what I’m—“

“I do listen, I listen to everything you—“

“—what I’m saying, you don’t want help, you don’t like people, you’re always sad—“

“I’m not! I’m settling in, why is that so hard for you to understand? I-I don’t get why you’re—“

“And it’s been three weeks, but you still never leave your room and—“

The door opened all of a sudden, and they both turned to see the man he hated the most in the world standing under the frame, a concerned expression on his face.

“Guys,” he shook his head in confusion, “what the hell?”

At least she wasn’t crying. At least she was just angry and he could handle that.

“Peter,” Alex started, and he felt a chill up his spine, “she’s just helping, don’t yell at her.”

He was embarrassed. So embarrassed that this man was here, scolding him like a child, like he was actually someone important enough in his life to be saying any of that.

May stood up from the chair, “it’s been a tough day,” she started, “why don’t you go home?”

He looked up timidly at the man, who smiled at May, then looked directly at him, clenching his jaw, “sure?”

“Uh huh,” she said, walking past him tiredly, probably to her room.

Alex didn’t move, just watched and leaned back quietly until he saw her door close, “what’d you say?” He asked, teeth gritted.

“You know not everything’s about you,” Peter mumbled, then shut his mouth in surprise. He glanced at him.

Alex scoffed, “oh yeah, I know that, it’s been _all_ about you nowadays,” he whispered angrily.

Peter looked up, “why are you even here? I thought she told you to get out. Even she can’t handle you.”

Alex stepped inside, and Peter looked up, then stood up, cornering around the bed with his heart thudding.

They both stood there, staring into each others souls with clenched jaws, until Alex narrowed his eyes and stepped back.

“May’s right next door,” Peter pointed out quickly, fists clenched and nails digging into his palms.

The man shrugged, “I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about,” he scoffed, stepping backwards until he was back at the door.

There was finally peace and relief when the door slammed shut. He sat down on his bed, then his mind started coming up with excuses to get out of the house tomorrow.

He exhaled softly and focused on the room next door - listened to her sniffling, her heart racing and her pacing the room. 

He felt guilt. He felt _so_ guilty. 

He looked down at the carpet - tapped his foot nonstop for a few minutes before he decided to get over his ‘childishness’.

He got up from his bed and headed towards May’s room, knocking on the door gently, “I’m coming in,” he warned.

She didn’t say anything, and he opened the door quietly to see her sitting on the edge of her bed, eyes a little red rimmed.

“May, I’m sorry,” he croaked, unable to even maintain eye contact with her.

She sighed, “I know you are,” she said, in a tone that said this was not at all what she needed or wanted to hear. That was fair, it sounded fake to him as well.

He hung his head down, “I can’t—I can’t—“ and he was back to scratching his head, then the back of his neck, “find a balance.”

“Between what?”

“Real and fake,” he shrugged, “yeah.”

“Is it the nightmares?” She asked, or assumed.

And the assumption put him off, because she thought ‘fake’ meant nightmares and sleep, and not the dead people he was seeing.

He nodded, “sure—yeah,” he replied, and her face softened, “nightmares.”

She gestured for him to sit down, and he did, by her side while she put her arms around him. He found himself with his head in her lap, like when he was younger.

A ruffle in his hair, then small strokes, “we’ll be fine.”

It wasn’t “you’ll” be fine, it was “we.” May and him. Him and May. Just them, and no one else to disrupt their lives or ruin everything. Not them and _Alex_.

“What if I never get better?”

She ran another hand through his hair comfortingly, “of course you will, because that’s how you grow. And you’re going to grow, even if this leaves a mark it’s not gonna dictate your life,” she told him.

It was an amazing sentiment, and he felt bad for not telling her everything, because at that moment she felt like his hero who would tell him exactly what he had to do to get his life back. She knew everything.

He nodded to himself, it’d leave a mark, but in a few years maybe he’d forget everything. Just like he’d forgotten that night which he also thought he’d never get past. But hey, he did.

“Of course you’ll get better,” she whispered.

And he believed her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A filler, sorry


	9. Chapter 9

“I’ll teach you,” Alex shrugged, “I had a trainer.”

Peter controlled his urge to roll his eyes, “I’m really fine, man,

“Come on!” He yelled, hyped up on adrenaline, as he jogged on the spot, “it’ll get your head out the dark.”

He contemplated arguing, then about the consequences that arguing would bring. A fight over not wanting to fight.

Peter sighed, “okay, I guess—“

He felt the floor disappear from under him — barely had the time to realise what just happened, when he hit his head on the carpeted floor, staring at the blurring ceiling.

“Rule number one, never be surprised.”

Peter mentally cursed the man, ‘ _never be surprised?’_ what the hell? 

A hand hovered in the air in front of him, and Peter grabbed it, being pulled up to his feet as soon as he did.

“You good?”

“Perfect.”

“Okay, now,” he slowly twirled Peter until he was under Alex’s grasp, “see, this—“

Peter knew exactly what was coming next, and lifted the strangers arm in lightning speed, freeing himself and facing him again.

Alex scoffed, then hummed, “Okay, alright, tough guy,”

He went in, and Peter didn’t know why, because this wasn’t teaching. But he dodged - watched as Alex stumbled past him and tried holding back a smirk.

Alex laughed it off, “not bad, not bad.”

He stopped for a few seconds, taking a few deep breaths.

“When’s your Aunt coming home?”

Peter shrugged, “she texted me,” he went to grab his phone, and there it was.

The searing pain that radiated from jaw as he went tumbling back into the drawers, nearly knocking them over before he was grabbed and pulled by a pair of hands.

“Didn’t see that coming,” He heard Alex mutter in the background, and god, he just wanted this idiot to go somewhere far away from here.

He couldn’t hold back a soft gasp, his hands touching the tender area and tears forming in his eyes.

“You’re fine,” Alex said, a little worry on his face, probably because of what May would say.

Peter was steadied against the drawer, staring with hate at the man, “leave,” Peter managed to say, refusing to look at him.

“Yeah,” he lifted up both hands in defence, as if he was the victim here, “sure, whatever you need,” he rambled, stepping to the side and out of sight, and Peter finally sighed in relief when he heard the door slam shut.

His phone buzzed and he sniffled, turning around to grab it off the edge of where he’d nearly knocked it off.

And it was May. She’d be late again, and she’d leave him home with this jobless psycho.

He tightened his grip on the phone, eyes shut tight and stopping only when he heard a slight crackle in the device, which now had a crack running across the middle of the screen.

A chill went up his spine, making him breathe in warily. He can control himself — he had to control himself. He’d been back for a week now, and he couldn’t let his anger get the best of him.

But the feeling wouldn’t stop — the feeling that something was very wrong, and that he was missing something really important while he moped in his room. Like the feeling he had when he wasn’t revising a week before an exam, this was nagging at his brain, every second of the days.

_If it was that important, I’d would remember._

After all, amnesia wasn’t a side effect - people forget things all the time, but then why was this sending him in a downward spiral?

He ran a hand over his mouth automatically, wincing and cursing, even kicking the drawers, when his jaw sent another burst of pain at the touch.

The doorbell rang just then, the sound ringing in his ears and making him nearly topple over.

He listened — one heartbeat, beating a little fast. 

The door opened, and then he heard the voice. He quickly ran and swung open his door, watching Alex stumble over his words as she asked for him.

“I’m—she’s here for me,” he said as he walked up, and Alex nodded, giving him a smirk as he stepped to the side.

“I haven’t met any of Peter’s friends,” he blurted out, and Peter gave him a fake smile.

“I’m not—“ then she pauses, “yeah, he hasn’t been around,” she clarified, and then took a deep breath as soon as he stepped in front of her.

“MJ,” he said, confusion and happiness mixing in his tone, then just stared, which in hindsight was a sucky move.

She gave him a look of assurance, “that’s me,” she smiled, then waited, “You gonna let me in?”

His eyes widened, “uh, yeah, yeah, sorry,” he moved aside and she walked in, nodding as she looked around.

“Sweet set-up, Parker.”

“Thanks,” he mumbled, even though nothing had really changed from the last time she came, but didn’t question it, then glanced at Alex, “you wanna go—my room’s over there—“

“Sure,” she said, ignoring the awkwardness that seemed to be following the three of them.

He followed her inside, then closed the door, giving himself a mental talk before he turned to face her again, “I haven’t seen you in months.”

She glared, “is that a joke?”

Great, messed up on the first try, “no—I realise now—“

“I was joking,” she smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes.

Another wave of silence washed over them, and MJ pursed her lips, looking anywhere but at Peter.

Peter frowned, “how—how’d you know I was back?”

She hesitated, then looked at him in sudden confidence, “Spider-Man was back, I figured it only made sense for the guy under the mask to be too,” she shrugged, looking out at the streets from his window.

He nearly choked, “what? I’m not— _what?_ ” He fake laughed, “Spider-Man?—is he back too?” He shrugged, a hand on the back of his neck, he was so bad at this, “I didn’t know—I didn’t even know he was gone—so cool that he’s back—“

“I won’t tell anyone, if that’s what you’re worried about,” she said in seriousness, eyes waiting for him to tell her, “and you really need to work on lying.”

“I’m not lying.”

“It’s probably the stammering,” she ignored him.

He talked his foot, then bit his lower lip in nervousness, “how did you know?”

“I didn’t, but now you just told me,” she smirked, and his mouth was open in the shock, and not the good kind. Did he just—

She huffed a laugh again, “I was joking...again” she said, and he gave a her a look, “You jumped out of the school bus, genius, I’m surprised none of the other idiots saw you,” she shook her head.

“You saw that?”

“Yep, Ned’s ‘disruption’ was—not very good,” she looked around his room, the mess on his desk catching her eye.

Peter looked to it immediately, “that’s—nothing,” he said quickly.

She nodded, “sure.” 

Then they went silent again. The tension in the room escalated, mostly because he felt so, so bad that she came to see him and he didn’t. Also, that they’d been friends of a year and she knew he told Ned and not her. Also, her aunt—

MJ looked up at him, “what’s up with the face?”

His hands instinctively touched the bruise, “just...Spider-Man stuff.”

She frowned, eyed the table, things on the floor, and then his face again, “you haven’t been out as Spider-Man.”

“It’s not always on the news,” he argued, weakly. 

MJ didn’t know him all that well, but they’d come a long way since she became captain, and something inside her was ticking at Peter’s bruise, the mess in his room and the red knuckles of the man who had opened the room.

She was a good person, she couldn’t, in good conscience, walk away with at least asking.

“Peter,” she started, “whose the guy?”

He knew she’d figured it out when she asked, “a friend of May’s,” he replied, “he was teaching me how to fight,” he said, then regretted it as soon as he said it. He was—

“Spider-Man. And he got a hit on you?”

“I heal really quickly. Like super quick. And I have to be normal around normal people.”

“I don’t doubt it, how’d he get a hit?” A fair question, “look, I know we’re not close.”

They’d started hanging out a lot after Decathlon, for the few months before everything went to ruins, so that kind of hurt Peter, but he brought it on himself. He would’ve reached out to her, she would’ve wanted him to.

“But I hope—and I know you’re a superhero—that you’d tell me, if something was seriously wrong,” she said, frowning at him.

And he would never take her up on it, but she’d told him about what happened with her mother, and they were the same, weren’t they? Both living with their aunts who loved them so much.

“You can’t tell anyone,” Peter admitted, and she scoffed, standing up straight, “he’s just—I d’know, he’s—“

“Peter—“

“Promise me.”

“I can’t do that,” she shrugged.

He stepped forwards, “you can’t? MJ, you ignore everything, and this is the one thing I’m actually asking you to.”

She tightened her clutch on the strap of her backpack, brows creasing, “I don’t _ignore_ , I pretend not to notice, and I’ve never—“

He put both hands in the air defensively, “sorry, it’s not what I meant. Look, what will you do?”

“When will you tell May?”

“Soon.”

“Right,” she nodded, “so if I come back tomorrow she’ll know you’re on a self-destruct mission?”

He frowned uncomfortably under her gazed “what’s that supposed to mean?” He whispered loudly, bringing his volume back down considering there was a villain lurking outside.

“I know Ross’s been trying to get people to talk. He’s reached out, hasn’t he? And you haven’t told anyone that either,” she snapped, matching his tone but with more fury.

He was dumbstruck, how the hell did she— “How—“

“You need an adult, Peter.”

“May can’t help.”

“Then find someone who can,” she ordered, shaking her head, “you know the depression rate for adults returning thirty-one percent and the suicide—“

“MJ!” He snapped, and put a hand over his eyes, which then shifted to his forehead as he tried to calm down and get his pulsing heart rate under control.

“Things aren’t the same now. We’re not adults,” she brushed a curly strand behind her hair, face tired and defeated.

Peter waited for her continue, because this was Michelle, and Michelle didn’t say things like this, because she was the most independent girl he knew.

“We can’t handle this— _you_ definitely can’t,” she explained, and waited for Peter to nod in acknowledgment before sighing.

Peter grabbed a stray pen off the desk, “so how, uh, how have you been?”

“Good. My, uh, my dad. He died.” And with that statement, the air drained out of the room.

His mouth opened in shock, “MJ, I’m—I’m so—“

“And my sister. She’s gone.” 

A sadness in her tone he’d last seen after her custody hearing was present, “it’s fine. I’m fine,” she said, more or less to herself because she wasn’t really looking at him anymore.

“What do you mean she’s gone?”

Michelle huffed a humourless laugh, “she ran.”

Peter didn’t push it, because MJ was smart, and without being too presumptious, he would say she knew exactly where her sister was. It clearly didn’t devastate her any less though. 

MJ shrugged, “her life was all centred around Dad,” she blurted out, then made a guilty face.

Peter swallowed, “I’m sorry, MJ.”

“Why? You didn’t know her.”

“I know _you_.”

“Barely. I’m the one who came to see you, remember?”

_Ouch._

He flinched at the statement, “she’ll come back.”

“She can—I don’t care. I don’t care where she goes,” though her tone and expressions said otherwise.

“She’s your sister,” Peter pointed out in her defence, “she’s family.”

“Then she wouldn’t have left,” she said fiercely, tears building behind her glasses, “you know she didn’t even tell me when Dad—” she inhaled, “I hate her—“

“Don’t say that,” Peter cut her off, and she bit the inside of her lip in frustration.

“Whatever,” she muttered, pulling her bag up further, “just came to see how you were doing.”

“Wait, I meant—“

“It’s fine,” she said as she made her way to his door, making him step aside.

“MJ!” He half shouted and half-whispered, “Come on, you can’t just—

“I’ll see you around, Red.”

He sighed, rubbed his eyes in an attempt to wake himself up from this hellish day. 

“I’ll call!” He yelled in attempt to smoothen the situation. 

She never responded.

He messed this up too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter is main plot!
> 
> Leave a comment if you can :)


	10. Chapter 10

His next problem started on a clouded, rainy Wednesday morning — a morning he was already feeling down, because this week, three years ago, Ben died.

He’d had less time to himself than he would have liked, because there was May. Most of their days went consoling each other instead of alone, which, in hindsight, was probably healthier. He spiralled on his own, and only May was the one who could stop him from doing that.

This year, the third year, May was less upset then the past two combined. She’d spent a few hours on the day grieving, but the week hadn’t affected her like it had affected him. 

She knew that. She knew he never fully told her how it went down, and exactly what happened. And the flashback of him, tear-stained and bloodied, kept her from asking him every single time. He didn’t handle it well, in fact he still couldn’t handle it.

_“You know, these things happen, and if he was here, he’d tell you to not spend so much time thinking about it.”_

He brushed this out of his mind when the train came to a screeching halt, jolting him forwards slightly. 

He looked up at the next station and muttered a curse under his breath. He missed his stop. 

He pulled up his hood and stepped off after squirming past the unusually thin crowd. On normal days, he didn’t have space to stand.

But the second he was off, his vision blurred. He steadied himself. Blinked. Then made his way to a steel pole he could barely make out.

“Oh, this early in the morning,” woman tutted when he accidentally brushed her. He must look like a crackhead.

Just when he grabbed onto the steel in front of him, everything was blocked out. He decided not to move; out of fear and the idea that he’d probably bump or possibly fall onto someone, and a fight with an angry late man with a briefcase was the last thing he needed right now.

Then, just as quickly as it happened, everything snapped back to normal, and he took a shaky breath, running a hand over his face. 

_“Next train to Forest Hills departing in two minutes.”_

* * *

The next shock came when he finally reached school, ten minutes late.

Shock because there was no one else hurrying to make it in to avoid late detention, when usually there would be the occasional familiar face in the huge crowd of people who ‘missed the bus’ and ‘woke up late’.

He squinted at the closed gates and took out his phone. MJ hadn’t texted, but May had called four times. 

He swiped at the screen and listened to the call go through, biting his bottom lip nervously and staring at the empty building.

“Where are you?” Her voice was stern, and the whole no greeting thing told him it was serious.

Peter’s face scrunched up in confusion. “At school.” He answered like it was obvious.

_“School? What, orientation? I don’t—I didn’t get an email.”_

“ _Orien_ —what are you talking about? Is it a holiday or something?”

There was a pause from May, and then an obvious chuckle, “ _Uh, I’d say Saturday’s a holiday, yeah.”_

He froze.

Saturday? 

“No, it’s—it’s Thursday. First day of...” he started to say, but the last word came out as below even a whisper as he wrapped his hand around the back of his neck.

It felt like time had frozen.

He heard May sigh on the other end, slightly disappointed by the sound of it, “ _if this is your way of sneaking out without telling—_ “

“Wait,” he cut her off, looking at his phone screen to be sure.

It _was_ Saturday. Definitely Saturday. He didn’t know what the hell he was doing at school, because school wasn’t meant to start until well into October this year, so his journey didn’t even make any sense even if it was Thursday. 

How did he miss it. 

“ _Peter?_ ”

“I’m coming.” Then he hung up before she could interrogate him. 

—————-

“I thought it was Thursday.”

“That’s crazy.”

He looked up at her and watched her face soften when he did. “I mean—why? Yesterday you were home and—“

“I don’t remember. I remember texting and before you interrupt me, I don’t remember eating ice cream.” 

He’d seen the pictures on his phone. Pretty hard to forget a trip to Baskin Robbins considering they rarely had time to go out together anymore, with her work, Alex, his issues... _Alex._

She raised her brows.

“Phone. Pictures.” He shrugged nervously.

“Yeah, Okay, but you were at school, sweetie, and school—“

“I woke up and for some reason I just—“ he stopped and sighed in frustration, “what the hell was I think—“

“Hey, okay, come on, it’s fine,” May cut in, eyes worried and even a little scared.

“Okay. So what do you, you know, think it is? Maybe stress from the week? Something related to your super-genes?” She asked genuinely in the hope that just this once they’d be able to figure out whatever was happening.

Peter shook his head, “no. I don’t know, and if I wanted to sneak out, I would’ve come up with a better excuse than amnesia,” he said with a small smile.

She nodded, “uh huh, well, did you tell Tony?”

He looked up and shrugged, “I haven’t talked to him in ages—well, a _month_ ,” then he saw that judging look, “because I am fine now. Perfectly fine.”

“I can’t take you to a normal doctor,” now she was serious, then she pursed her lips and the smile was back, “how about we call? Sort out whatever happened?”

“Nothing happened,” he said, talking to the table at this point, and all he really wanted to do at his point was move on from this topic. The air was suddenly stuffy, and he felt his cheeks burning. He’d never tell her what happened that day. Maybe he blew it out of proportion, because it must’ve not seemed like a big deal from Tony’s perspective. He didn’t hang around to ask.

So she hummed along and tutted, “you’re right, he probably just sucks, I called it from the beginning,” she said like it was a no-brainer. It was more of an attempt to get him to call.

Peter exhaled a laugh, “I didn’t—no. I’ll call,” then he sighed, because every time he’d gone to Tony was with another problem.

She took his hand, “none of this is your fault,” she pursed her lips, her mind taking her to dark places again, “unless—you’re not—you’re not doing anything...you know?” Her eyes narrowed and lips drew into a thin line, as if saying the thing she didn’t want to actually say.

Peter stared at her for a few seconds, confused, until he realised what she was talking about, “May!” 

“Sorry! I’m just—unless—y’know, you are, you’re...?”

“Are _you_ serious?”

“Okay! But come on. Give me something here,” she took him by the shoulders when he turned his head, “forgetting three whole days is a pretty big deal.”

“I’ll call him, I said I would!” He said in a highpitched tone.

She was waiting for him to touch his phone, which he didn’t for next few awkward seconds.

“Do you want me to do it? I can do it,” she offered genuinely, about to grab her own phone.

“No. No, I can do it,” he said quickly, taking her hand to stop her from moving.

She watched him in anticipation. She meant now. Right now, “I can do it, Peter.”

“I’m doing it, May,” he shushed at her and sighed.

He took out his phone and placed the call to Happy, knowing the man wouldn’t pick up. Maybe that was why he called him first. He could say he _tried._

When the call went to voicemail, as expected, he shrugged, “he didn’t pick up, they’re probably busy.”

“Who did you call?” May questioned, leaning on the table to see his phone.

“Happy.”

“I said—“

“Alright! Okay, I was just...I’ll call Mr Stark.”

He pursed his lips and found and called Tony’s number next, kind of hoping he wouldn’t pick up either. Maybe this was just a temporary thing that would go away soon and he was just—

_“Peter.”_

He froze for a second, “hi. Mr Stark, hi.”

He heard Tony huff a laugh, almost relieved, “ _hi. You okay there?”_ He asked, slight discomfort evident in his voice.

“Um, yes, actually no— _no,_ I—I need medical help.” He phrased carefully, barely holding it together. He totally overreacted last time, and this was the most embarrassing thing May was making him do even though he could probably handle it.

There was a pause, “ _medical—what kind of medical help?”_ He questioned, then spoke again before Peter could reply, “are you going out again?”

“No. You—you’re—“ he stopped, exhaling uncomfortably and watching May trying to stop herself from grabbing the phone and taking over. He wanted to hang up.

There was a shuffle on the other end, _“is something wrong? Peter, what’s wrong?”_

“I’m missing time. A lot of—like three days, actually, I’m—maybe you could—or someone there could maybe see if something’s wrong, maybe.”

“ _That’s a lotta maybe’s,_ ”, he didn’t mask the concern in his voice, “ _what do you mean missing days?_ ”

“I can’t remember anything since Wednesday night.” He scratched the back of his head as he said it, “and it’s probably nothing—“

“ _It’s actually probably something_ ,” Tony cut in, “ _Happy—scratch that, _I_ will...come. To your apartment, I mean.” Another pause while Peter frowned. “I’ll be the one to come to pick—just be ready in an hour,” _ Tony sped through the end of the sentence.

Peter mumbled an ‘Okay’ and ended the call, looking up at his aunt as if that wasn’t the most uncomfortable conversation ever. “So, I’m going there in an hour.”

“I’ll get some stuff,” she smiled.

“You’re already late,” Peter said quickly, and she sat back down with a confused look on her face.

“I can afford a shift off,” she blinked and took his hand again, “Peter, a lot’s changed, and money-wise we’re doing great,” she stressed, if that was what he was worried about. 

And he was. “I know, but listen, I’ll call you if something, probably nothing, happens.”

May looked at him suspiciously and sighed. It had to be nothing, but there was still a nagging feeling tugging at her heart, “Peter, I’m—“

“You know how it is in hospitals, they do a bunch of tests and wait a few hours to say it’s nothing.” He lied, knowing full well how different the Compound was.

“That’s what I’m for. I’ll stay while they do all those things, or you’ll be all alone,” she tried to tell him, but he didn’t seem to understand. And she couldn’t understand why he didn’t want her there.

“I promise, I’ll be fine,” he told her, “you can come later on after they’re done.”

She nodded at that, but her eyes were still filled with worry. “Okay. Alright, you go, I’ll call you to check in.”

“Okay,” he smiled.

“Keep your phone on,” she ordered, then narrowed her eyes at him, “actually give it to me, you never have the ringer on—“

That made him laugh, “I’ll pick up, May.”

She smiled and leaned in to kiss his forehead, “you better,” then got up from the table and headed towards the door

He watched her grab her keys, bag and jacket and then head out the door, reminding him to call before she shut the door for the final time.

He looked down at his phone and stared. 

It was Saturday. How was it Saturday? How did he just skip a few days like it was nothing?

He started checking his messages. Messages, calls, gallery; anything to tell him what he’d been doing the past few days.

There was nothing there. 

Except his last message to an unknown number. _I’m here_.

He was where? And that too at around midnight.

He frowned and grabbed his bag from his feet, opening the zip and reaching all the way down to grab his mask. 

“Karen?”

“ _Hello, Peter._ ”

“Yeah, hey, question for you. What did I do yesterday? Go out maybe?”

“ _Is this a rhetorical question, Peter? You said not to answer rhetorical questions._ ”

Damn him for messing around.

“Karen, I’m serious. Gimme a—a report or something.”

“ _You were online from only eleven forty-nine to midnight for a total of eleven minutes. You were at home._ ”

He scoffed, “home? Doing what?”

“ _You were having issues remembering things._.”

Something was so wrong, and he nearly felt his life wither away in front of him, “What things?”

“ _You went offline. I advised you to write it down._ ” she answered giddily.

He scanned the room, looking around the scattered mess he’d made with ripped up scraps of paper and half-run-out pens.

“Did I hide it by any chance?” He questioned sarcastically, “tell me I wrote it down.”

“ _I think I’m forgetting things._ The screen in front of him was showing his desk, and his voice. He froze, stood in the middle of the room and watched the feed, _”So, uh, video diary, I guess. So Karen said I asked this yesterday as well. I can’t remember anything since Wednesday night. I figured—I mean I thought I mixed up the days. I didn’t go out so...I’ll leave my mask out. I’ll put a note. Next to the bed, or on the mirror in the—_ “ he cut off and watched himself stop talking and squint.

Squinted in confusion and then just took the mask off. Because he didn’t understand what he was doing.

He sighed and took off the mask, looking at the pile of papers in front of him. This was a—

_Knock, knock, knock._

He looked out his room, then quickly shifted through the papers. 

Mr Stark was waiting at the door. Earlier than he said he would be. A lot earlier.

“You said an hour.” Peter reminded him as soon as he opened the door, which was not the best thing to say considering it was the first time they’d met in months.

Tony raised his brows, “hello to you too,” he answered, “I tried calling,” he said, waving his phone in front of Peter’s face.

Peter frowned, then quickly patted his pockets, “on silent, I think,” he said, looking to the shoe cupboard then dinner table for his phone.

“Ready?” Tony asked, looking around the small living room.

“Right. Yeah, yeah, lemme just get my stuff,” he rambled, hurrying inside and grabbing his backpack, stuffing the mask inside.

* * *

The car ride was silent. Peter wanted to start a conversation, but left it. He shouldn’t have to. Didn’t need to.

“How’s school?”

“There’s no school.” Peter responded, looking out the window and resting his head against it a few minutes into the journey. The thought that he should have elaborate was squashed when he saw Tony hum and look at the various notifications and phone messages pop up on screen next to the steering wheel.

He didn’t understand most of them. Some of them were from Pepper, and the subject was, in almost all of them, to do with PR meetings. Lots of meetings. The latest ones were from Bruce, who said he was waiting, and then from a name he didn’t recognise, talking about shipping out something on Monday earliest. 

Tony nodded, making a left at the intersection, “you stopped coming by.”

Peter frowned and lifted his head up, “I figured it’d be...you know, I’m not going out anymore as Spider-Man, and just...”

“Still. You can come.”

“That was before—“ he cut off and pursed his lips, “we haven’t talked in two months.”

“I know. I’ve been busy,” Tony said, eyes focused on the road but mind on Peter. That was a real conversation hitter. _I’ve been busy?_

“Same,” Peter mumbled, the discomfort now growing to a level that he regretted even telling May this morning, “so busy, I’ve been—“ he exhaled at the statement.

Tony sensed the disinterest in the conversation, and his brain was hissing at him to fix it. But he didn’t know what to say. 

The rest of the ride was quiet. 

As soon as the car entered and stopped at the Compound, Peter rushed inside, leaving Tony trailing behind, keys jingling in his hands.

“Peter?” He called when he got inside, because the boy was nowhere to be seen. “Hey?”

“ _R201”_

“What?”

“ _He asked.”_

People avoiding you just sucked, didn’t it? 

He made his way down and saw Peter outside the room he was supposed to be in, finally slowed down.

“Wanna actually go inside?” He asked, watching Peter turn around.

“This place is huge,” he said, eyes on the ceiling, “you ever look at how huge it is?”

Tony followed Peter’s gaze then looked back to him, “totally huge, but _you_ know that.”

Peter’s brows creased, “how would I know that?”

Tony frowned at that, “you—“ he narrowed his eyes, “how about we go inside?”

Peter paused for a few seconds, “right, yeah.”

* * *

“Wednesday.”

“What did you do last? Any untimely or particularly memorable trips?” Tony asked, waiting worriedly for an answer.

Peter shook his head, “no, I’ve been home, nothing superhuman or anything.” 

Bruce nodded, clicking his flashlight off after examining both eyes. “Nothing wrong there. We’ll do some scans.”

Peter nodded, fiddling with his nails.

“Where’s May?” Tony asked, because he really couldn’t handle the consoling and comforting part right now. He wasn’t supposed to, he was supposed to be working hard finding answers.

“I told her to go to work. That I’d call her if something came up.” Peter answered, and just by the way he said it, it was clear he’d started to regret that decision.

Tony noticed that too. “I can get her if you want.” He offered, pursing his lips. 

Peter shook his head quickly, “no. No, I’m fine so far, and it took me ages to convince her to go.”

Bruce disappeared from next to them shortly afterwards, and Tony stayed for the consoling part. He wanted to fix it. Patch things up again.

“Listen, Peter, if—you know last time—“

“You’ve been looking into all those people who died,” Peter interrupted, looking at his sneakers.

It wasn’t exactly a secret, and Tony definitely hadn’t been discrete about it. In fact, he’d very clearly and loudly been voicing his concerns to most people. But it wasn’t something he wanted to talk to Peter about - something about it felt unusually close and uncomfortable, mostly because this whole thing started because of him, and now he was back, but it felt more than wrong to drop everything when so many more were still missing.

So Tony sniffed, “yep,” short, a topic he hated discussing casually. And this was a casual talk.

“Is it painful? For them?” He asked, eyes finally looking up to meet Tony’s, who opened his mouth for the simple answer, then saw Peter’s face. More importantly, his _eyes_.

“Why?” Tony asked in an indifferent tone, like the answer didn’t matter. “It’s less than one percent of the population, that’s—“

“That’s still tens of millions of people,” Peter said quickly and defensively, and it definitely caught Tony off guard for a good minute.

“Someone’s been reading.”

“Except I can’t because you’re the only one looking into it, and you’re not exactly talking to me.”

“Okay, hey, that’s not—you’re not dying, Peter, why are we talking about—“

“Why can’t you just tell me—“

“I don’t want to,” he replied loudly and a little rudely, “Is that reason enough? I don’t _feel_ like hashing out the reasons why people are dead.”

That definitely squashed the conversation there and then.

They both looked anywhere but at each other, until Peter finally spoke up, eyes still staring hazily at the floor.

“You can—you don’t have to stay here,” he said, to put them both out of their misery.

He had the urge to tap Peter’s shoulder before he left, but they were fighting, and this was new territory, so he abandoned that idea and gave a nod he was pretty sure Peter didn’t see and left the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don’t know what’s going on with the timeline but it’s supposed to be beginning of September, sorry👀


	11. Chapter 11

“See that?” Bruce asked, squinting and then lifting his face up, gliding his chair a little to the left. Tony stepped in and bent down, eyes glaring into the lenses. “It’s a virus,” he heard Bruce say, and he squinted at the minuscule, moving blobs of colour resembling a shrunken down version of some horrid monster.

“Looks violent,” Tony said, blinking at the moving blood cultures and pulling away from the microscope, “what is it?”

“I can’t see it having an impact on his memory, even with the altered DNA. In a few hours I’ll have an idea, but I don’t see him contracting anything too dangerous,” Bruce answered, adjusting the microscope, eyes deeply focused on the plate again.

“Right, so it’s curable,” Tony said impatiently, knowing it wasn’t the best thing to say in situations like this but he really couldn’t help himself, “doesn’t look too bad, you just said it yourself.”

“I don’t know.”

Bruce. Always speaking his mind.

“You don’t know?” He couldn’t help the irritation that came with the question, “what does that mean?”

“It means I don’t know what it—“ he lifted up his head and flinched when he hit Tony’s chin, “—is. Something that can be a cold to you can be nothing to him, but we don’t exactly know why that is - whether it’s just a stronger immune system, or the way his body deals with the virus—I don’t know.”

“So it could be incurable,” Tony said when Bruce finished explaining, “you don’t know how he works, how would you—“

“I didn’t say that—let me work, Tony,” Bruce snapped, looking to his left as Tony pulled away and stood up, “just let me try and get an idea, the last time I did this was nearly seven years ago.”

“Yeah, do your thing,” Tony said, and he decided to leave the room before he could ask anymore questions and be left even more disappointed and paranoid than he already was.

It would take hours, so it was better to move Peter out of a lab in the meantime, at least. So that’s what he did - he left the lab and Bruce and made his way to the other one.

He pushed down the handle and opened the door, immediately noticing the way Peter was huddling up, crossing both his arms against his chest in what seemed to be an attempt at tying to keep himself warm.

The TV was being projected onto the screen in front of him, a distinctly familiar face talking. He stopped at the door and listened.

“ _—not only the Missing, but all of our fellow Americans who fell victim to the tragedy after their return. I can assure you the Avengers have been interrogated, as were several other super-powered individuals, including Spider-Man, who we will—_ “

“Friday, turn it off,” Tony ordered, and the TV went out in a flash, prompting Peter to almost fall off his chair as he turned around to face Tony.

Tony shrugged, “he’s an idiot,” he justified.

Peter seemed to want to say something, but that remained a mystery because he never spoke aloud, just nodded his head.

Tony suddenly wasn’t content with moving on from the topic anymore, “have any of them reached out?” He asked, and the way Peter faltered for a second was answer enough — almost made him go mad and start yelling. “I’ll reword before you lie, I know he has,” Tony said, before the next five minutes of the conversation turned into an ‘I don’t know’ squabble.

“I guess. Last month.”

“You _guess_? What does that mean know you ‘guess’?” 

Peter shrugged, “I went to the store to get something, and it was one of his men—they followed me inside. Said I should know I’m a suspect—“ his face crumpled up, “—whatever that means.”

“And?”

Peter looked at him, unsure, “that’s it.”

“Oh. That’s _it_?,” he said in the most sarcastic way he could, “who else knows? May? She knows?” His eyes narrowed, studying Peter as carefully as he could.

Peter shook his head before he could compel himself to speak, “no, no, just MJ.”

Tony squinted, “MJ. Whose—whose MJ?” He asked, clearly getting more irritable with every answer, wondering in the back of his mind how many other things were going on that he didn’t know about just because he hadn’t asked.

“My friend,” Peter shifted on his seat, “you know, from school.”

His mind blanked for a second, and he frowned again, “right, because she was obviously the right person to tell.”

“I didn’t tell her,” Peter said defensively and quickly, “she figured it out.”

Nice answer to make him feel like an idiot. A highschooler figured it out, and he couldn’t. He rubbed his forehead amidst his escalating panic, “what else? Did he say anything else?”

Peter looked down, then sighed, “I got a letter. I didn’t show May,” he started, “I didn’t understand most of it,” he admitted, remembering back to when he opened it, “but—“

“Red bold letters at the top?” Tony asked, and got a nod in return that made him hold his forehead, press his fingernails in his temple, “Why would you not tell me? Or your Aunt? Happy. There’s Pepper. Even _Rhodey_. Any of them would’ve done.”

“I don’t know,” Peter said, and Tony was about to continue - give him a list of the bad decisions he’d made, how dangerous his little ‘solo’ act was, how he was just being reckless when he knew he had all this support here and at home, but he didn’t. He took one look at Peter’s guilt-ridden face and decided it wasn’t the time. He looked cold.

“Whats wrong?”

Peter looked up. Was he shivering? It looked like he was shivering. “Nothing.” He said shakily, “it’s just freezing in here.”

Tony decided not to tell him what they’ve found out. Or that it was already twenty-four Celsius in the room. He’ll worry. “Okay, come on, grab your stuff,” he ordered.

* * *

Peter nodded, anything to not piss him off more than he already was. And when May found out, she’d be be even more mad, and his heart skipped a beat at the thought. This day was going horribly.

He didn’t understand what happened next. One second he was looking at Tony, and the next, a strange colour filled the room.

Darkness.

And it was so much colder. 

The chills up his spine and his senses, which were screaming at no visible danger, sent his mind into a state of panic in seconds. 

Tony wasn’t in the room anymore. Where’d he go? He was right here a second ago, he couldn’t have left.

He felt alone. Like he was in another place, far, far from reality. Far from anyone to help or even hear him.

 _“Reality skewed can make a person crazy.”_ A voice echoed around the room, and he looked around the empty room, desperate to find the source. “ _One that exists only in your head must be worse.”_

He clenched his jaw, trying to stop himself from shaking and tearing up, “What?”

“ _Why are you scared?_ ” The voice replies almost immediately, making Peter freeze. “ _Spending time here is what you need. It’s _all_ you need.”_

“Yeah? And where’s _here_?” Peter asked, trying to keep a confident front even though his eyes suddenly felt tired and dry. Felt _red._

“ _It’s.._.” the voice trailed off and he could almost recognise that tone. “Well, it’s where you’re trying to run from.”

A chuckle.

It was him. 

Standing in front of Peter was Peter. A perfect clone, and it was nothing like staring in a mirror, because in a mirror you saw what was there. This version of him wasn’t anywhere.

Peter blinked, confused as to what he was supposed to be seeing, because it couldn’t be this.

“Why’d it hurt?” His duplicated version asked, and then broke down; began to disintegrate right in front of him.

Peter stumbled back; looked at his own shaking hands in a state of both panic and worry as his face scrunched up. He took a gasp when they started to crumble away, because even though this is exactly what he feared, it wasn’t supposed to happen _again._

The feeling was back like it never left. He’d disappear into dust again.

The feeling of life leaving him behind; abandoning him so quickly that he didn’t have time to think. Molecules and parts of him just fading away into nothing. Sending him into nothingness.

There was no time to plan. He’d thought if it happened again, he’d plan and he’d think of something, but he forgot how painful it was. 

“No, no, I’m—“

No time to even gather his last thoughts—

“—up! Come on!”

He jerked forwards and nearly fell off the chair he was sitting on when his eyes snapped open.

Tony was standing in front of him; eyes big with worry and concern as he said a bunch of things to him that Peter didn’t quite understand or even hear.

He clawed at his neck and gasped. He was not getting enough air. He needed air, and all of it just seemed to be gone, because no matter how hard he’s trying, the only thing he sees happening is his eyes blurring with unshed tears.

“You’re—you’re okay,” Tony stammered, holding Peter still by the collarbone, “hey, you’re fine, what’s wrong?”

Peter sniffled, and the way he looked up at Tony quite honestly and visibly scared the man, because Tony looked confused and worried, and very scared, a bit like that last time that no one ever spoke about again.

His eyes quickly shifted to his own shaking hands, which he observed carefully as if seeing them for the first time. Like they were about to disappear.

And while Peter hadn’t disappeared into dust, the tears were still very real and there, and he quickly wiped at his face with his arm. 

He couldn’t answer the question, because nothing except a strained whisper would come out, and he was still all over the place, looking around the room in a panic.

“Hey, hey,” Tony shook him gently by the shoulder, “just me, see?” He put both hands up in the air, “just me and you in here.”

Peter breathed in relief, the sense of normalcy welcoming him back and steadying him again.

“You saw something,” Tony stated, skipping the questioning part because whatever just happened scared the hell out of him too.

Peter’s face made it seem like he was about to lie, or downplay it, and Tony spoke up before he could.

“Yeah, you did,” he said, brows raised and waiting for an answer, “what was it?”

Peter shook his head, “it’s a—nightmare I’ve had a couple of times.” Couple of times? More like everyday.

“Okay. Areas of concern. A, it’s not night, and b, what were—“Tony purses his lips, “You were looking at something. Like it was here, but it wasn’t.” He asked, eyes squinted in await for an answer, “were you hallucinating?”

Peter looked back at him like he was not making sense, even though he was making all the sense in the world, he was looking at something. But saying ‘I saw a duplicate of myself’ was out of the question. That sounded insane.

“Daydreaming,” he decided to say stupidly.

Tony slammed his hand on the table, “I can’t help if you don’t tell me,” he said, realising he overreacted just a little, and possibly scared Peter.

Peter flinched slightly, and looked away. Everyone was going through the same thing, this isn’t what they should be focusing on. Other people died and came back, he couldn’t be the only one having a few issues settling back in. 

“I don’t want to,” Peter said honestly and frustratedly.

Tony shook his head and scoffed, a few seconds after he took in the uncharacteristic outburst, “Peter. It’s one question. I know I don’t look like the most stable person right now but that’s only because all of this—“ he stepped back and extended his arms to gesture to the lab, “—it started with _you_. Help me help you and all the other people like you and—“

“It was just a nightmare, Mr Stark” Peter interrupted him, closing his eyes and then looking back at Tony, “it’s me, I mean I saw me. I’m telling myself to go back somewhere. Then I crumble away. I just usually have it when I’m sleeping.”

Tony sighed, “you—it wasn’t the same. What happened to you didn’t happen to anyone else, or that we know of.” 

“Yes it did.” Peter exclaimed, eyes wide with innocence and anger.

Tony sniffed, “You hear the way they explain it? Calm, collected, at peace, not even realising what was happening. You knew. You knew before it did, because you felt all of it.”

He made Tony feel it too.

Peter didn’t know what to say to that. The pain, which he was so sure was there, existed a long time ago. And since then, news reports and people brushing his story aside had made him feel like his experience didn’t really happen. Maybe it was in his head, because he wasn’t supposed to be hurting, according to everyone else.

May believed him. Tony did too. But everyone else says it’s probably phantom pain. They weren’t the ones who had to go through the excruciating pain of yourself being practically clawed apart. Slowly being eaten away at.

“What’s in the dream?” Tony asked when Peter didn’t say anything to his last statement.

Peter shook his head, “I—“ he stops and takes in a shaky breathy when his voice wobbles. “It happens again. It’s like I’m there again, and I—it hurts. I can feel it, and it seems _so_ real,“ he inhaled. “Dreams don’t hurt.”

Tony moved forwards, started to speak, but Peter was now focused on the cloud of fog that formed every time he breathed. He was not _here,_ because here, it was 27 degrees.

It was darker, even though all the lights were on. It shouldn’t be dark, which meant it was in his head.

“ _Hey!_ ” A voice echoed, and he followed it to a boy standing in the door frame, worry splashed across his face.

He frowned. That’s—

“ _Don’t you wanna see Ben? He’s calling for you, I—“_

“Peter!”

* * *

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m here,” Peter lied again, rocking in the stool slightly, looking down at his legs.

“You’re not. You’re not _here_ , which is why _we_ are here right now,” he was pretty annoyed by now. They were running around in circles, and Peter was telling him half of what he was asking, looking at who knows what. “What did you see just now?”

It was an innocent, repeated question, with a hint of annoyance, but Peter looked at him with wide, scared eyes, hand reaching the back of his neck again and breathing shakily, “I don’t—I don’t know what’s happening,” he admitted, looking anywhere but Tony.

It was a sudden change. He noticed the scratching and took his arm, pulling it down, “Peter—“

“I’m—I’m going crazy.”

“It’s hallucinations,” Tony tried downplaying suddenly with a shrug, “we all get’em.”

That wasn’t much of an assurance for his protege, who shook his head, “no, normal people don’t just forget three whole days. That’s—that’s—“

“But you know they’re not here, right?”

Peter looked at him incredulously, “yeah,” he said irritatedly, “I know the _hallucinations_ aren’t real.” 

“Okay, firstly, take it down a notch and calm down,” Tony said, sighing, “secondly, hop off that thing. We’re going somewhere else.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It takes me too long to do anything which is why badly written, inconsistent, sporadic updates is how I roll✌🏼

**Author's Note:**

> Comments make me happy, leave one if you can :)


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